


You and Me and Stars

by suna_scribbles



Series: Deception [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hana passes out a lot, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mild Gore, Original Character(s), Past Abuse, Robot/Human Relationships, Romance, Self-Insert, Tags May Change, a whole lot of babbling about stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-10 08:35:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 55,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15287796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suna_scribbles/pseuds/suna_scribbles
Summary: When the whole world turns upside down, stability can always be found in the stars. A near-fatal accident lands Hana in a silo with the grouchiest doctor she's ever met, and in the middle of a war she'd never planned to be a part of.Against all odds, she might be the edge that the Autobots need.





	1. Fateful Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Red_Dragonn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Dragonn/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana's just a tired engineering student with a dead phone, a malfunctioning Geiger counter, and a whole lot of annoyance. Getting run over by a motorcycle wasn't exactly how she wanted to end her trip.

Leaves crunched under my now-filthy sneakers, sinking just slightly into the ground as the wet dirt gave under the soles. I wiped humidity from my brow and trekked forward, praying that my search would be over soon.

“Of course, I just _had_ to go and volunteer myself,” I grumbled to myself, hoisting my heavy backpack higher on my shoulders to ease the strain on my back. “Go find the source of the radiation surge, they said. It will be great for our dissertations, they said. We only have a few days before they’re due, they said. And why did I agree? God only knows.”

I looked at my phone, which hadn’t had a signal in at least six hours now. I’d been hiking through some unnamed woods in New Jersey for far too long now, having driven here all the way from my university in New York. I’d left before the sun had even risen, and now the horizon was growing dangerously dark as the sun slid into its nighttime position. I had a backpack of camping supplies ready to pitch a tent if needed, and my mind was slowly slipping away from my cause. Though the silence and solitude were welcome, radiation levels hadn’t budged since I got here, no matter how many circles I walked in. I was growing exponentially tired and pissed off as every second trekked by, the sound of my own footsteps driving me mad. 

“I’d bet anything that this hunt is useless,” I said aloud. “Some mistake on the professor’s radar. There’s nothing here! I hate my fucking major!” My voice surged into an annoyed yell, and I punted a rock in front of me as hard as I could in a rage. It flew off into the distance and bounced lightly against a tree before collapsing to the ground.

I sighed and sat down in a huff, staring at my Geiger counter and praying something, anything, would happen with it. A surge of deadly radiation would be a welcome relief after the boredom I’d endured all day and the growing worry of returning to campus emptyhanded. We needed a breakthrough badly if we wanted this dissertation to be a slam dunk.

My phone blinked brightly before the screen shut down. Dead. I groaned and stuffed it in my backpack, ripping out my tent and preparing to set up a camp for the night. 

The sun had vanished completely by the time I was set up, equipped with a pop-up tent, a sleeping bag, and a cheap lighter for starting fires. The faint glow of evening sunlight was pleasant, small pinpricks of starlight shining through the trees. I took a moment to gaze at them, tiny glimmers bathing in an orange sky. 

My Geiger counter was clicking on the rock I’d left it on, the sound dragging me back to my previously annoyed state as it pierced my serenity. I stomped to cover it with a pillow just seconds before it went wild, clicking rapidly for no more than two seconds before returning to normal. I looked around wildly, my eyes locking on a faint glimmer of blue light in the distance that faded into the night before I could so much as blink.

“What the—” I scrambled upright, Geiger counter in hand, immediately abandoning my wimpy camp and dashing in the general direction of the light, backpack slung haphazardly over my shoulder.

I stumbled over myself, charging forward, hoping with my entire heart that there was something over here. What could it be? Some unknown element? An explosion? A meteor? The propositions alone excited me—I could be on the verge of discovering something completely unknown, doing something _meaningful_ for once in my life. My breaths came rapidly as my heart rate spiked, losing myself in my own thrilled fantasies.

After quite some time, I realized why I hadn’t trekked this direction in the first place—a huge cliff of stone lay in my wake, looming in the ever-increasing darkness.

I frowned at the prospect. The blue light had come from behind it; I was sure of it. I inhaled deeply, allowing anticipation to wash over me once again as I began to try and scale the wall, slowly and carefully. 

An exhausting ten, twenty, thirty minutes went by before I made it to the top, my breaths coming in short rasps, palms bloody and scratched. My head was spinning with wooziness and adrenaline, oddly tired and wired all at the same time. I slid down a small hill before continuing a slow, careful descent to where the light had come from. My Geiger counter was confirming loudly that I was approaching my long-awaited destination. 

The clicking was growing more and more intense the farther I walked, and I wearily wondered if I was in any danger. Sure, I was comfortable with some exploration, learning new things about the world, but it wasn’t something I was particularly willing to risk my life for. 

Before I could entertain the thought any further, I found myself above a large clearing, with the mouth of a cave wide open below me. It appeared to be one of the many abandoned uranium mines the area was known for—one of the older ones judging by the decay.

My eyebrows furrowed as my gaze landed on a series of sharp angles, far too clean to be natural. Leaning forward, I peered through the darkness, blinking in surprise—the mine was littered with strangely intact mining equipment.  
Confused and enticed, I skidded down the hill toward the cave, and my eyes grew wide as I drew closer—the equipment was massive, far too large for any human to use. I walked up to it, estimating that any user would have to be upwards of twenty feet tall to  
use it.

“What the hell?” I whispered. My Geiger counter was going insane, clicking madly, but my first close examination of the sensors indicated that the radiation levels hadn’t increased, sitting at a comfortable level of ten micro Sieverts. I tapped it a few times, bewildered. _What’s it registering if not radiation?_

I crept cautiously toward the massive cave, transfixed by the gentle blue glow I could see just beyond the piercing nighttime darkness. I swore I heard muffled noises from deeper in the cave—grinding, crunching, heavy objects falling over, the squeal of metal on metal, and… voices?

I hesitated, cowardice and curiosity battling in my subconscious. Who could possibly be exploring a cave like this? And why hadn’t I heard any voices prior to these? I had been here all day, running rampant through the woods in desperation, but never once caught a whiff of another human being. My palms began to sweat as I considered the possibilities: thieves, murderers dumping bodies, _anyone could be in there._

I couldn’t resist—curiosity won my inner battle, guiding my feet forward without permission from my brain. The cave was huge, an endless maw looming over me, dark and foreboding. I was too nervous to take out my flashlight, and I quickly knocked the batteries from the Geiger counter in fear of the noise alerting whatever lay within the cave.

Long, silent minutes passed by as I progressed further and further, the blue light growing more and more intense by the second. It felt as though it was emanating from all around me, emitting from the walls themselves, pulsing coldly at me. It felt inhuman, unfamiliar, almost unsettling. I breathed deeply to calm my nerves.

Voices and more grinding occasionally pierced the quiet air. Despite being increasingly unnerved, I felt compelled to pursue. Something very important was down here: I was sure of it.

My heart pounded against my chest as artificial lights came into view around a bend, slicing through the unnatural blue glow with beams of tinny yellow. I pressed myself against a wall and edged forward—the voices were clear now. I _knew_ that I shouldn’t be here but couldn’t convince myself to turn back. I was far too deep in… whatever this was.

“Commander,” a slow, smooth voice was saying. “Surely, we can return in the morning, when the troops aren’t so tired! We have enough energon to last a while, and we know now the deposits are available here—”

“I don’t believe your option was asked for,” a snarky sort of voice replied. Shivers crept down my spine. These voices sounded human, but with a twinge to them: a metallic edge, a sharp blade obvious each syllable. And they were so loud, so incredibly huge, practically shaking the walls as though the speakers were shouting at the top of their lungs. I wanted to peek, but my feet refused to cooperate and stayed planted on the ground, my spine glued to the stone behind me.

“Keep mining until the place is clean,” the snide voice ordered. “We need to keep the deposits _secure_ or _empty_. And security is not something we can prioritize right now, not with the decoding we need to do.”

 _What the fuck are they talking about?_ I wondered. I wanted desperately to look at the voices, but my body wouldn’t budge. 

“Sure thing,” the smooth voice replied, dripping with annoyance. “Whatever you say.”

I barely registered a loud _whoosh_ coming from the cave’s entrance, almost a mile away, but my head twitched in its direction nonetheless. I had never heard a sound like that before, and my mind began reeling with terrified speculation.

I heard heavy footsteps approaching, footsteps that quickly stopped when the deliverer was within earshot of the voices in front of me. My heart was practically pounding out of my chest. _Think, think, think!_

Suddenly, the blare of engines began to echo against the walls, growing closer and closer at incredible speed. I wheezed a bit and began to creep toward a crevasse in the wall, praying that I wouldn’t be seen by whoever—or whatever—was here.

Then, within one minute, everything went to hell. 

I was blinded by headlights and sprang backwards against the wall as two vehicles, a gorgeous yellow sports car and a slim blue motorcycle, whizzed by me at a ridiculous speed. The sound of mining quickly stopped, and suddenly the air was filled with shouting and metal smashing against metal. I couldn’t resist anymore: I stepped from my hiding space to peek, and my jaw hit the floor.

About a dozen massive robots, anywhere from fifteen to thirty feet in height, were brawling in the middle of a mine sparkling with huge blue crystals sprouting from all surfaces. They were adorned in different colors and shapes, some sleek, some bulky. They moved with surprising nimbleness given their overwhelming size, each movement quick and calculated, fierce expressions plastered on each of their faces. Some of them didn’t even _have_ faces, and instead donned glowing red visors with mere slits where the eyes would be located.

I watched a smaller blue one, the same color as the motorcycle, smash a fist into a taller purple one’s head, sending it flying. A yellow one, bigger than the blue but still smaller than many of the purple ones, was firing blue lasers everywhere, the hue bearing a striking resemblance to the unnatural shade as the crystals all around.

“Careful!” the blue robot snapped, and the yellow beeped in response. I saw a very shiny red robot’s eyes narrow as it charged the blue one, who dodged spectacularly and wrapped its legs around its opposer’s neck, slamming it into the ground.

I couldn’t move. I was too confused to move. Was I dreaming? 

“Retreat!” I heard the snide voice shriek, cowardice exploding from the word, and the red one delivered an uppercut to the blue one before its body folded, compressed, and molded itself into a… car?

A fucking _car?_

The red vehicle roared in my direction, and I barely managed to scramble into hiding as it blew past. I heard more shifting noises, and suddenly _planes_ were rocketing past me, splitting my brain in half as the booming whine of engines echoed across the walls. My ears rang and popped as they shot past, navigating nimbly through the cavern and out of sight. The sound of blows landing on metallic bodies sounded from behind me, and I couldn’t stop myself from creeping out to look once again.

I saw the blue one pounce on top of a halfway transformed plane, which shook it off and began to zip toward the exit I stood in. I ducked, barely dodging.

My relief was short-lived—my eyes widened as I saw the vibrant blue motorcycle tearing toward me.

I screamed, my lungs finally working once again, and the motorcycle’s tires screeched wildly just before it plowed into me at sixty miles an hour.

I’d never broken a bone, but I knew the sensation immediately as the usual support in the left side of my body gave. My voice vanished, tears spurted from my eyes, and all air rushed from my lungs, cutting my scream into nothingness. I flew directly upwards and fell like a ragdoll, attempting to stop myself uselessly, my right hand falling badly on a chunk of blue protruding from the ground and crumpling at an unnatural angle. I heard dozens of small crunches, and pain exploded behind my eyes, rendering me  
nearly blind.

The sound of engines had faded, replaced with an alarmed beeping noise.

“I didn’t _see_ her!” I heard. The voice was female, and like the others, a steely bite hardened the edge of each letter. My vision was fuzzy and dark, barely able to focus on two pairs of huge, glowing blue eyes that were suddenly floating above me. Both faces carried startled expressions.

“Uhh, Ratchet,” the female one said, metal shifting over metal as her face melted into an expression of concern. “We’re gonna need a GroundBridge and a medical kit, fast.”

“ _What?_ On a _recon_ mission?” A more mature, gruff voice rang through the air with no apparent source. “Which of you got hurt?”

“Not one of us,” the female said, looking as though she was afraid to touch me. “A human.”

“A _human?_ ” The sarcastic voice was incredulous. “What is a _human_ doing in an energon mine? Did it get involved somehow? Has it seen you?”

The yellow robot beeped rhythmically as though responding. The blue one shot it a nasty look.

“ _Arcee!_ ” The invisible speaker sounded livid.

“It was an accident!” the female argued. “Just get a GroundBridge to my coordinates. I think it has some broken bones.”

“Did it come into direct contact with raw energon?”

The blue one moved her gaze from me and onto the bed of blue below me. “You’re not gonna like the answer to that.”

“Oh, you’re _joking._ ”

The yellow one beeped in a low, almost melancholy tone.

“Can we just… leave it there?” The gruff voice sounded strained.

The yellow one chirped, eyes dilating, narrowing.

A long, drawn-out sigh. “ _Fine._ Bring it back, then. We need to lessen the exposure while we still can. I’ll take look at its injuries. Chop, chop!” 

Large hands reached out to lift me out, and I whimpered in pain as my shattered limbs dangled helplessly below me. For the hands of a giant, the grip was surprisingly gentle.

“Please—” I gasped. “I just need a hospital. I—my head—I think I hit my head. I’m hallucinating.”

The blue robot glanced down at me nervously, then at the yellow one. “Is this really a good idea?” she said quietly.

The yellow one shrugged and beeped. The blue one rolled her eyes.

“I guess,” she said in reply, sounding defeated. “She has seen us, after all.”

Before I knew it, I was ten feet in the air, being carried by a titan. My head lolled to the side, and everything went dark in an instant, less from the pain and more from pure shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is my first AO3 post and my first time ever posting my writing online. I do hope you all like it.
> 
> Special thanks to Red_Dragonn (the person I gifted this to) for encouraging me to post this. Their work is amazing-- check it out if you get a chance.
> 
> I'll be updating pretty frequently until I get caught up in what I've already written, which is... a lot. So prepare for a lot of updates!
> 
> (Edit: fixed a bit of grammar! Can't have them errors on chapter 1 LOL)


	2. Patient Consent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana may or may not be losing her mind, given that her doctor is four times her height, made of metal, and has an attitude to rival her own. Fortunately for her, Ratchet is just as irritable and confused as she is... in more ways than one.

I woke up intermittently to confusing images—strange colors, floating blobs of blue and orange, the insides of my own arms and legs—each sending me back into a restless, hazy slumber. My head swirled with nightmares for what felt like ages before I blearily returned to consciousness, blinking slowly and purposefully to clear crud from my aching eyes.

I was resting on an uncomfortable bed with an IV dripping into my arm, thick casts on my forearms and leg. My right hand was heavily bandaged and completely immovable, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, each throb shooting pain through to the tips of my fingers. Each breath came in clipped gasps, and I managed to lift my shirt enough to see bandages wrapped tightly around bruised ribs. I eased my gaze to the side of the bed, where my backpack was neatly placed, Geiger counter balanced on top, batteries still removed.

The room around me was cavernous, seemingly carved out of a mountain and filled to the brim with unfamiliar technology: giant engines and rotors, large screens with green lettering that I couldn’t make out through my blurry vision. I groaned and shuffled upright, wincing as my ribs shifted painfully for the first time.

I rotated my feet toward the floor, gingerly testing my bad leg, which seemed to be in surprisingly good shape considering its cobalt hue. My shoes were gone, revealed my bruised and blistered toes that fortunately moved without much pain. I flexed any muscle I could, all of which responded well, and I breathed a sigh of relief upon recognizing I wasn’t in awful condition. I had no idea where I was or what was happening, but at least I was alive.

The relief lasted but a second before my mind started swirling, wondering how I’d gotten these injuries—or where I even was. Surely the giant robots had been a drug induced fever dream. There was no other explanation. Maybe I’d fallen off a cliff or hill or something, and paramedics had miraculously found my crumpled body in the forest, a dozen miles from anything.

I frowned. That seemed unlikely. But what other explanation was there?

“How do you feel?” a voice slowly said from behind some walkways. I froze.

The voice was older, certainly sounding as though it came from a man old enough to be grey around the edges, gruff with experience. Perhaps this was my doctor. The world around me looked unfamiliar and nothing like a hospital, making me chuckle almost wildly.

“Never been better,” I said. “Think I’m hallucinating a bit, though. Can you call a nurse or something?”

The voice didn’t respond for some time. “Do you know where you are?”

I paused and looked at the ceiling, blinking a few times. The clay didn’t go away. There were no fluorescent lights, no ugly green walls, no beeping heart monitors.

“I assumed a hospital, based on the casts and IV,” I said nervously. “Am I tripping or something right now?”

My response came in the form of heavy footsteps, _unbearably_ heavy footsteps. I followed their source with my eyes, heart pounding painfully against my damaged ribcage. 

A vibrant white leg, the calf alone taller than I was, slid into view. My eyes followed a mass of orange, silver, and white metal up to a large, blue-eyed head set between strong, broad shoulders. The face was humanoid, but the expression was pressed not into flesh, but formed by large metal plates that shifted over one another as the wearer frowned at me.

I couldn’t help it—I screamed and stumbled backwards, tripping over my backpack and knocking over my IV, sending my throbbing body to the floor.

The robot scowled. “Be _careful_. I _need_ that.”

“I’m fucking tripping,” I heaved. “What the fuck—w-what is going on?”

It scoffed at me. “Not one for polite introductions, are you?”

I couldn’t do anything but stare in horror and awe. My limbs were frozen in place as I pressed backwards, putting as much distance between myself and the giant as possible.

“Maybe you should lie back down and rest some more,” the robot said, a glimmer of genuine concern making its way through the cynical tone. “I’m still unsure of how well your injuries healed.”

“M-my brain,” I whispered, staring into the large blue eyes, each bigger than my fist. They shifted and narrowed as I spoke. “Something’s wrong with my brain.”

“I checked your brain, all functioning is normal,” it said pointedly, chewing the word ‘brain’ strangely. “You were exposed to a large amount of energon, however, so I can’t be sure as to what damages may have occurred.”

“Ener—what the _fuck_ are you talking about?” I snapped. “There is a giant robot standing in front of me and you’re telling me that’s _normal?_ ”

The robot looked as though it was straining for composure. “Well, if _that’s_ the supposed brain issue you’re having, then I can assure you, nothing is wrong. Now, if you want to rest before getting some explanations, feel free. I’m here to help you, not debate with you.”

Its— _his_ —sharp tone caught me off guard. Was it even possible to imagine a personality so vivid? Not taking my eyes from his, I sat back down on the bed. He kept his distance, standing stiffly in place, enormous arms crossed.

“What… what are you?” I squeaked.

The robot gazed at me for a few seconds, obviously trying to tell if I was truly calm. After deciding, he moved toward a computer, tapping a few things into it before shifting his gaze back to mine.

“ _Please_. I am not a _what_ , but a _who_. I am what you humans would call a robot, or an alien. Perhaps both. A Cybertronian, to be exact.”

I stared, trying to remember how to speak normally.

“Okay, I’m gonna need some elaboration on _that_ and on what happened to me,” I said, careful to keep my voice still but firm. “P-please and thank you.”

The robot looked almost satisfied with my resolve. “My name is Ratchet,” he said. “I am, like I said, a Cybertronian, an autonomous mechanical species from the planet Cybertron, which was unfortunately destroyed in an ongoing war, forcing me and other Cybertronians to your planet, Earth. To be simple, the war is between Autobots, such as myself, and Decepticons, two sides of the same species fighting for control of power over our old, now devastated home, and now on Earth. You met some Autobots, I think. Do you remember a blue motorcycle and a yellow sports car?”

“Yeah,” I replied. My mind was whirling. _So that wasn’t a dream?_

“Those were two of my comrades. You stumbled upon a mine of energon, which was being harvested by Decepticons. Energon is our life force, much like the ‘food’ you humans consume. We use it for energy, power, weapons, and for our very life force to be supported. It is rare, especially on Earth. And I would very much like to know how you happened upon a mine full of it.” His eyes were practically slits at this point, glaring at me as though I was something he intended to step on.  
I bit my lip, not sure of how to answer. “I… was doing research for my dissertation,” I said. Ratchet looked confused. “That’s—uh—that’s a big research paper that I have to write to get my master’s degree. I’m an engineering student, and my professor sent me to that mine when he saw a blip on a radiation sensor the university had put there.”

Ratchet looked almost pleased. “A student, hm? You’re a deathly curious one, at that. You’re lucky to be alive, you know. Humans and energon don’t mix, and you were surrounded by raw deposits of it.”

I glanced at my casts, my purpling skin, fear seizing my stomach like a vice. “Am I gonna be okay?” I asked, unable to keep panic from rising my voice.

“Thanks to my efforts, most likely,” Ratchet said. “Your bones were nothing short of shattered from your impact with Arcee, but after some delicate surgery, they’ve been repaired. Unfortunately, I don’t have much human technology lying around, so I had to fix you with some Cybertronian parts.”

“Huh?”

He looked as though he was in pain. “What exactly did I say that was unclear?”

His stark attitude was almost laughable compared to the panic welling inside me. I was slightly charmed, in fact, by his delicate disposition.

“You fixed me with—with _alien_ stuff?”

“I do believe I just said that,” Ratchet said, sounding irritated, “but yes. Your body now contains Cybertronian biotechnology. It’s nothing that you’ll have to personally upkeep, but I would advise you stop by on occasion, just so I can make sure everything is in full working order. I’ve never performed surgery on a human, so I can’t guarantee everything will work as intended.”

“Am I a cyborg now?” I blurted. The glimmer of a grin crossed Ratchet’s stern face.

“One could say that,” he said plainly. “Your left leg and left arm were merely repaired, and your right hand underwent some… more intensive surgery.”

“You robot types aren’t ones for patient consent, are you?” I was frustrated and excited all at once, wondering what unbelievable technology lay inside me. “Can I look under the casts?”

“I wouldn’t advise that just yet,” Ratchet warned, taking a step forward. I shrank back almost involuntarily. “Your bones are still fusing with the living metal inside of you. Be cautious.”

Disappointed, I pulled my left hand from my right cast. “When can I look?”

“I estimate about two days,” Ratchet said. “In the meantime, please relax so you can remain under observation, then we can get you home to your family.”

I felt my eye twitch.

“Sure thing,” I grumbled, accepting that if I was tripping, two days would be enough to clear whatever massive concussion I was suffering from. “Where are your other robot friends?”

Ratchet glanced at a massive screen to his left, which I looked at in awe, the engineer inside me perking its head up excitedly. “Gathering energon from the mine you were at, it seems,” he said. “They’ll return soon. Please treat them with respect, and don’t scream at them like you did at me. Not all bots are as understanding as myself.”

I laughed, unable to stop myself. 

“ _Understanding_ isn’t the word I would use,” I said.

Ratchet scowled.

A tense silence fell between us, Ratchet staring at me with irritated blue eyes—optics?. I tried to hold his gaze, attempting to prove that I wasn’t seconds from jumping out of my skin, but his powerful expression forced my eyes away. I glanced at the screen behind him, watching as strange green shapes scrolled across.

“Did you—uh—did you build all of this?” I asked, gesturing toward it.

“I—why yes, I did,” he replied, looking almost taken aback. His sharp gaze softened slightly.

“It’s beautiful,” I said earnestly. “I’m a computer engineer, you know. I build this stuff for humans.”

“You don’t say,” he said, his tone flat but his gaze stabbing deeply into mine. “How is human technology coming along, anyway? All of what we have here is rudimentary at best.”

“I’m only a student, so _mine_ isn’t great,” I said, bewildered that I was casually conversing with a giant alien robot about my studies. “But other people are doing some pretty cool stuff.”

Hesitantly, I reached my good hand out. “My name’s Hana,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

Ratchet stared at my hand, then glimpsed at his, extending a single finger toward me, which I gripped and shook politely. He looked confused, staring at me as I retracted my hand.

“Pleasure to be of your acquaintance, Hana,” he said, no longer meeting my eyes. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to tend to.”

He turned to walk away, and my obnoxious curiosity overwhelmed me once again.

“Can—” My voice caught, but Ratchet had already heard me, looking curiously at me.

“Yes?”

I looked bashfully away. “Can I watch?”

Ratchet’s face contorted into a strange expression—it looked as though he was trying not to smile by tightening his frown. “If you’re so inclined and don’t intend to interfere, I don’t see why not,” he replied. “Please keep your distance.”

“Of course,” I said, springing to my feet and wincing as my bad leg hit the floor. Ratchet looked at me with concern, stepping forward with his arms reaching toward me. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked. “Any numbness or tingling?”

“Just sore,” I reassured him, wiping the grimace from my face and replacing it with a pained smile that hopefully read as cheerful. “I’ll be fine.”

“Humans are quite resistant to damage,” Ratchet murmured, his expression just shy of impressed. “Come, now. I must do some repairs on the cloaking of our base. _Carefully._ You’re still in recovery.”

“You cloak your base?”

“Our hideout is incredibly secretive and must not be found by either Decepticons or humans,” he said plainly. “Decepticons would surely destroy it, and we don’t trust humans to react well to our presence on their planet. Hence the vehicular disguises.” He looked down at me, obviously understanding he had just insulted my species, but not appearing to care.

“Not a bad idea,” I said with a shrug. “Not all humans are good at keeping secrets.”

“I certainly hope _you_ are,” he said coldly. “Optimus may be trusting, but I am more hesitant. Unfortunately, since you’ve already seen Cybertronians, some of us decided it was in our best interests to keep you here, where you would be forced to keep your mouth shut.”

His lips tightened. “Just so you know, I was not included in that group.”

I was taken aback by his sudden aloofness but forced myself to be understanding. “If you need time to trust me, that’s fine,” I said calmly. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot going on, and a blabbermouth human is the last thing you need.”

“Y-yes, exactly,” Ratchet said, a strange tone taking over his gruff voice. “Now, if still you insist upon watching, I’m about to get started, and can’t be delayed any further. Inform me immediately should you notice any medical abnormalities.”

I jogged toward him, each of his strides equal to five of mine. “You got it,” I said brightly. 

Ratchet glanced down at me, the barest breath of a smile crossing over his face once again. 

~

Her curiosity and resilience were admirable, if nothing else. She had initially been afraid of him, understandably, but the earnest inquisitiveness that followed regarding his work was something he hadn’t seen from a human before. Not that he’d interacted with many humans in the first place, but those he had met were merely impressed with his technology. Impressed, and nothing more.

As he tinkered delicately with the circuitry keeping the base hidden, he glanced over his shoulder to see her perched, watching from a few yards away with wide, interested eyes. They were brown, a rich dark brown that was far different than the muddy tan he was usually surrounded by. They were pried so broadly that he could see the white surrounding the—what was it called—the iris? 

She kept her distance as asked, but he still found himself unable to get completely lost in his work as he usually did.

“If you have any questions,” he said, watching her eyes shift from the circuits and toward his own optical receptors, “feel free to ask.” He frowned to himself. Why had he said that? He didn’t want to be bothered. He _hated_ being bothered.

She blinked a few times, face flushing red. _How peculiar._ “I have a lot. Is that okay?”

He looked back at her, surprised by his sudden willingness to have his work interrupted. “By all means.”

She scooted slightly forward, staying relatively far back despite his invitation. Was she honoring his request for distance, or was she still afraid? “Do you use things like, uh, capacitors and inductors? Or do you have different technology?”

“Different in composition and name, but similar in function,” he said. “Come closer and look.”

She moved closer, bending as far as her injured leg would allow, wincing slightly as she put weight on her knees. Her body was so small compared to his, so thinly built, ridiculously fragile. He could almost see the bones under her thin coating of skin.

He lowered himself to try and intimidate her a little less, drawing a thin screwdriver and gesturing at the circuit board he was working on. “Does any of this look familiar to you, Hana?” The name rolled comfortably over his glossa as he tasted it.

She peered, dark eyes darting over the circuitry, tracing every outline. “The wiring all looks similar, at a glance,” she said thoughtfully, pointing to the fine lines that swirled around the board. “But humans usually use copper on our circuit boards, with a coating. What’s this grey stuff?”

“Copper,” he muttered to himself. “Interesting choice. As for your question, the ‘grey stuff’ we use is partially refined energon, also with an inductive coating. Energon is a wonderful conductor.”

“Awesome,” she breathed. He caught himself smiling again and firmed his expression into his typical scowl. Smiling exerted too much effort. 

He worked in silence for a long while, Hana kneeling just a yard or so away.

“Hey,” she said, “what’s this down here?” She dipped forward, pointing into the underground gap where more circuitry lay, stumbling slightly. 

He instinctively reached out to stop her descent, catching her in his palm. Holding her like this, it struck him that she was _very_ small, but far less frail in waking than she had looked and felt on his operation table. Her tiny fingers were squeezing his own, trembling slightly. His spark pulsed deep in his chassis as he felt her grip tighten.

She inhaled sharply against his digits and pushed herself upright, flipping hair from her face. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her face flushing deep scarlet.

“Not at all,” Ratchet said. “What were you pointing at? Here: use this screwdriver to show me. Just don’t poke anything. And don’t trip.”

She grinned brightly at him, taking the tool and prodding it toward a transistor. 

Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice that for the remainder of the lesson, he kept one servo near her just in case she slipped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse the exposition dump-- Hana's dumb and I somehow had to explain the universe that this is. For reference, I sort of combined the Prime/IDW universes, following IDW designs and storyline and assuming that the Prime timeline takes place way, way after all that goes down, with Megs kind of losing his marbles and the war not really being over.


	3. Contradictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally coming to terms with the fact that she isn't hallucinating, the whole situation is starting to be really fun for Hana. Ratchet is making more contradictory statements than regular ones.

Cybertronian technology was incredible, I found myself thinking during the entirety of my lesson with Ratchet. He was touchy with his work, but more than willing to explain it, leaving me rushing around, pulling spare notebooks from my backpack to document it all. Most of what he said went flying over my head, but the earnesty and eagerness with which he discussed it only encouraged me to ask more questions. It was rare to catch a glimpse of him doing anything other than glowering, but when he did, it was a treat. His smile was slightly crooked, the left side of his mouth lifting centimeters higher than the right.

The sturdiness of his grip stayed pressed into my skin ages after he had stopped my fall, and I found myself wondering whether it would be worth it to trip again just to feel it again. Would he think I was annoyingly clumsy? I didn’t want to risk it.

Before either of us had a chance to notice how much time had gone by, Ratchet’s internal communication device was filled with a loud male voice I didn’t recognize.

“Ratch? You there?”

Ratchet snapped upright in the middle of explaining one of the components of the shield. “Bulkhead! Is everything okay?”

“We’re fine,” the voice said. It was deep and grumbly, but incredibly warm. “We just need a GroundBridge. Our servos are pretty full.”

“I’ll pinpoint your coordinates,” Ratchet said, standing upright. He’d been bent over next to me for so long that I’d nearly forgotten how massive he was, standing at roughly twenty feet—four times my height, his head alone matching the size of my torso. 

“Who’s that?” I asked, jogging after Ratchet as he strolled toward the open part of the silo.

“My teammates,” he said simply. “You already met Arcee and Bumblebee at the mine—Arcee feels bad for running you over, please refrain from tormenting her—and you have two more to meet.”

“More?” Now that I was sure I wasn’t delusional, I was beyond excited to meet more of these robots that Ratchet called comrades. “Who are they?”

“Bulkhead, our Wrecker—a warrior, essentially—and Optimus Prime, an old friend of mine and our greatly respected leader.”

“Optimus Prime,” I said, tasting the words. “Sounds fancy.”

“He has power and wisdom beyond that of any Cybertronian left in this universe,” Ratchet said mysteriously. “His presence in of itself demands reverence, though I’m quite sure you’ll understand his demeanor quickly when he returns.”

“How are they coming back? Wasn’t all that energon in New Jersey? Where are we now?”

Ratchet smirked at me and put his hand on a large lever. “ _This_ , Hana, is called a GroundBridge,” he said, pushing the device down. Behind me sounded a large _whoosh_ , and I spun around to see a teal swirl of light appear that could only be described as a giant portal.

“Whoa,” I said for the twentieth time. “Did you build that?”

“It’s—it’s standard Cybertronian technology, scaled down massively due to limited resources,” Ratchet said. “But yes, I did.”

“That’s incredible!” My eyes couldn’t get wider. “It’s a two-way gate, I assume? Can it go anywhere?”

“Anywhere on Earth, yes,” Ratchet said, looking slightly pleased with himself. “Get behind me. I’m unsure of how fast their return will be, and I don’t want you getting run over again. I only have so many spare parts.”

I elbowed his foot playfully, earning myself a deliberate eyeroll as I crouched behind him, leaning out in anticipation.

A few moments later, dark shapes formed within the swirling sea of color, and soon the air was filled with the heavy footsteps of four other Cybertronians. Two looked familiar, the blue and yellow ones named Arcee and Bumblebee. Bumblebee was slightly shorter than Ratchet though far lither in build, and Arcee was shorter than both, the top of her slender head barely reaching Bumblebee’s wide shoulders. The other two were significantly larger, a bulky green one that I could only guess was Bulkhead, twice as wide as any of the others but no taller than Ratchet. The last loomed over the rest, an elegant mix of red and blue, wearing a noble expression behind stacks of sapphire-colored crystals. My immobile right hand twitched slightly under its cast.

“Welcome back,” Ratchet said, his voice bright as he stared at the glimmering rocks. “I see the Decepticons left some energon behind.”

“If by ‘some,’ you mean enough to last us at least eight more months, then yeah,” Arcee, the short blue one, said, looking proud. “We grabbed all we could carry.”

The huge green one was dragging two gigantic carts of the raw energon behind him, the incredible weight causing him no discernible strain. “Thanks to Arcee and Bumblebee!” he said in his warm, deep voice. 

Bumblebee buzzed cheerfully, letting armfuls of energon crash to the floor. Ratchet sighed quietly. I wondered silently why Bumblebee didn’t talk like the rest, but something told me now wasn’t the time to ask.

“Before you clutter the floor entirely, I want to formally introduce you all to someone,” Ratchet said, stepping aside slightly and bringing me into full view. “Her name is Hana. She’s recovering well from the surgeries she underwent, but she needs to be kept under my care for at least another week.”

 _A week?_ I looked up him, puzzled. _I thought he said recovery would only take a couple of days._

“Hana, huh?” Arcee gently set down her collection of energon. “Sorry for running you over back there.”

“N-no problem,” I said, attempting to sound breezy while surrounded by enormous alien robots. My heart was racing with excitement at the sight of them—they were massive, intricate, and nothing short of incredible to witness when in motion.  
Bumblebee walked forward and leaned toward me. His optics were wide and circular, almost childish and incredibly inviting. He beeped at me cheerfully, looking up expectantly at Ratchet.

“Bumblebee says he’s sorry as well,” Ratchet relayed.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own,” I said shyly, looking down at my injuries, almost ashamed. “I was the one who wandered into that mine.”

“Do not be embarrassed of innate curiosity,” a deep, proud voice said from above me. I looked up and into the eyes of the large blue and red robot, who was looking at me with a collected, earnest expression.

“I— okay,” I said, shifting my eyes downward again. Ratchet was right: within seconds, I felt humbled by this robot’s presence. 

“Ratchet, do you trust this human?” the tall one said.

Ratchet looked down at me, his expression stern as I stared back at him. “I do,” he said gruffly.

“And I trust your judgement, old friend,” the tall one said. “Hana, my name is Optimus Prime. Has Ratchet taken to explaining what brings us to your planet? We mean not to intrude upon your kind, only to coexist. I do hope you understand.”

“Yeah—yes,” I corrected myself, strangely inclined to speak politely. “War on Cybertron over energon, planet destroyed, energon on Earth, the whole shebang.”

“As expected of our talented medic,” Optimus said tenderly. “I do hope your recovery has been comfortable.”

“Ratchet’s a good doctor,” I said, smiling up at him. Ratchet seemed pleased with all the flattery being thrown his way but kept his expression steady.

“Come now,” he said, stepping forward to help carry the energon. “Take this to the refinery in the back. It needs to be processed for use as soon as possible. Our supply is quite low.”

I stood out of the way in silent wonder as the Autobots strolled out of the room. The green one, Bulkhead, winked at me as he passed, and I waved weakly in response. 

Once they were gone, I walked over to my makeshift bed, noticing that I was not only exhausted, but starving as well. My right arm was shaking wildly, and I grasped it with my left in attempt to steady it.

“What a fucking day,” I mumbled to no one in particular, resting my head back. I glanced at my still-dead phone and thought of the charger in my bag, wondering if I should plug it in and let everyone know I was okay. 

I frowned, looking at the black screen for a moment before picking it up and shoving it deep inside my bag.

I settled into the bed; my tired limbs were immediately grateful for the respite, and after a few short minutes, I found myself finally drifting into a truly restful unconsciousness.

~

The Autobots returned to the main room after stuffing the refinery full of energon, the morale significantly higher than it had been last night when they had no spoils but a destroyed human body. Hana had fallen asleep in the medbay, sprawled across the oversized berth. Arcee narrowed her eyes at the human, gauging her twiggy build—based on appearance alone, Arcee doubted she would be any sort of threat.

Ratchet returned to his computer and began typing for some time while the others lounged about. He sighed in frustration every so often. None of the other Autobots took notice—Ratchet’s bad mood was notorious and constant.

“Ratchet,” Optimus said, walking up behind him. “Are you having any luck with the decryption?”

“Not as of yet,” Ratchet said, his voice significantly harsher than it had been just hours ago. He shook his head, pressing a digit into his helm. “The location is heavily encrypted, and not in any cryptographic function I know of.”

“Do not fret,” Optimus said encouragingly, but Ratchet knew him well enough to detect the tension in his voice. “If you cannot decrypt it, I doubt the Decepticons have made much progress either.”

“We can only hope,” Ratchet grumbled, turning his head toward Hana’s sleeping form for a split second before returning his eyes to the screen.

“You keep looking at her,” Arcee observed slyly, folding her arms. “Is she doing okay?”

The medic looked strained. “I am merely worrying about the health of my patient.”

“Uh huh.” Arcee raised one eyebrow at him.

“It is… possible that she will be another mouth to feed with energon,” Ratchet continued after a pause. Bulkhead looked confused.

“Why would she need energon?” he asked. “Isn’t it, you know, really bad for humans?”

“Theoretically, yes,” Ratchet said, his gaze drifting in Hana’s direction once again before he diverted himself back to the screen. “However, two of her right fingers were entirely unsalvageable, and to regain proper functioning, I fashioned a new bone structure for the destroyed digits with some of our own metal.”

A stunned silence fell as he dropped his bomb of information.

“You gave her a Cybertronian hand,” Arcee confirmed quietly.

“Only _partially_ … but yes, essentially.” Ratchet caught himself looking toward Hana and dragged his gaze back onto the screen. What was the matter with him? “There was damage to other bones as well, in the legs, ribs, and other fingers, which also required fixing with Cybertronian parts due to extensive shattering. Her tendons would have been severed had the small pieces not been removed and replaced. However, her body is adapting well, and it appears the only side effect will be an occasional dose of energon to keep the metal alive and well. The exposure to energon in the mine was minimal enough to avoid any damage to her brain, and I have hopes that the minor contact gave her enough tolerance to take a small amount of energon. Once a month at most.”

Bumblebee beeped a few times. _Think she’ll be okay?_

“I am almost entirely sure that she’ll be fine after routine recovery,” Ratchet said nervously. “Best case scenario, she experiences trivial physical enhancements. Worst case…”

“You’re the best doctor on any planet,” Bulkhead said encouragingly, patting Ratchet on the back, unable to see the grimace on Ratchet’s face. “If you say she’ll be fine, I bet she will be.”

Ratchet glanced toward Hana’s sleeping form once again, allowing his optics to linger on her small body for once. She looked far weaker when she was asleep, the circles under her eyes deeper and more prominent, flushed cheeks drained of their usual color, eyebrows tilted upward into a troubled expression. What was running through those human processors of hers?

Arcee noticed his expression and looked toward Bulkhead, who had also noticed Ratchet’s continuing gaze. They raised their eyebrows at each other knowingly.

“Don’t you hate humans, Ratch?” Bulkhead said, still looking at Arcee.

“I—” Ratchet stumbled over his own words. “I merely _dislike_ humans. I find them hard to trust and easy to break.”

“So why did you take such good care of her?” Arcee inquired, grinning widely at Bulkhead. 

“She had already seen Cybertronians, and it was you who caused the damage to her, Arcee,” Ratchet said in a sharp, almost rehearsed tone. “It was safer for the Autobot cause to take her in rather than risk our cover.”

“Right,” Arcee said. “Then why did you vote to give her the boot?”

“And now that she’s awake, you’re totally fine keeping her around?” Bulkhead’s smirk grew wider.

“If you don’t mind,” Ratchet said harshly, whirling to face them and dodging their accusations entirely, “I have some decoding to do. You should all recharge for tomorrow.”

“Sure thing,” Arcee said, jerking her head at Bulkhead, clearly wanting to discuss something in private. He followed her without a word. 

When they turned around, they saw Ratchet staring at his screen quite pointedly, not typing anything at all.


	4. Guilt and Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana really loves the stars. Ratchet really doesn't.

I awoke with a start to the miserable sound of my own stomach grumbling loudly. I gripped it with a grimace, wondering if Cybertronians ate anything remotely human that I could snag.

I rolled over and fished through my backpack, still lying down, frustrated to see that what I thought was my last granola bar was nothing more than a wrapper now. The base was dark aside from the green light from Ratchet’s screens, and I saw him standing before one, snoozing lightly while remaining totally vertical. Angry red symbols blinking on the screen splashed his face with intermittent crimson, igniting the heavy circles under his optics.

 _It must the middle of the night_ , I thought, glancing at my watch, which read 1:14 a.m. I sighed, standing and tiptoeing across the base, debating for a second whether I should wake Ratchet or not. My stomach was twisting crazily, presumably trying to digest itself, and I realized with a start that it had been at least 24 hours since I’d eaten anything.

I could see his shoulders rising and falling gently as he slept, hands placed uselessly on the keyboard. His optics were halfway shuttered, the glass below flickering between total darkness and dull blue as though his brain was only half awake. I reached toward him, buckling as his head tipped slightly upwards before cascading downwards once again.

“Ratchet,” I whispered, torn between fear of waking him up and ravenous desperation. “Ratchet?”

I tapped lightly on his calf, and he snapped awake with a grunt.

“Who’s there?” he asked severely, spinning around wildly, his arm turning into a massive blade, pointing straight at the open space where the GroundBridge sat in peaceful shutdown. I yelped and fell backward, barely managing to dodge his huge feet. He heard the scuffle and looked down at me, donning a surprised expression.

“Hana!” he said. His arm shifted back to its natural state as his expression cleared into one of annoyance. “Why are you awake? What time is it?”

“One in the morning,” I said apologetically. “Sorry for waking you.”

He pinched his nose irritably. “What is it?”

“I—sorry—I’ll go back to sleep.”

“No, no, wait,” Ratchet leaned toward me. “It’s alright. I’ve been working too late again. What do you need? Is something wrong?”

“I—well, I haven’t eaten in a while,” I said, staring at my bare toes. “Do you have any food? Human food?”

Ratchet shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead some more. “An oversight on my part,” he grumbled. “Come on. We don’t have food for you here, but I can take you to get some. Do you have, um, money?”

“In my bag,” I said, rushing to my backpack and pulling out a couple of twenties. “It was gonna be gas money, but it doesn’t seem like I’ll need that for a while.”

Ratchet grunted tiredly in reply. 

“I’m unsure of where to get food for you,” he said after a few seconds. “Do you know where to go?”

“Depends,” I asked. “Where are we?”

He paused briefly. “Nevada.”

I laughed loudly, and he stared at me in confusion.

“I—sorry, I’ve just never been to Nevada,” I said, reclaiming my composure. “I got from Jersey to here in, what, two seconds? That GroundBridge thing, that’s… wow. That’s so cool.”

Ratchet nodded. “It is impressive technology. Unoriginal, but impressive nonetheless.”

I shrugged. “I think it’s cool whether it’s original or not. God knows _I’ve_ never done anything original.”

Ratchet’s expression was unreadable once again. I wondered briefly what that face meant.

“Well, come now,” he said, and I gasped as his body compressed and folded into that of a white and orange ambulance.

“I didn’t imagine the transforming shit, then,” I whispered.

The ambulance—Ratchet—drove up beside me. “Didn’t I explain?” he said, his voice emitting from somewhere inside the ambulance. “We have an organ that allows us to scan and become any vehicle we choose to become. Within reason, of course.”

“And you’re an ambulance. How appropriate,” I said, opening the passenger’s side door and sitting down. The inside was glowing with the same blue light as Ratchet’s optics, the decal that marked every Autobot pressed into the steering wheel. “How very original of you.”

“Save the attitude,” Ratchet warned, a chuckle in his voice. “You’re at risk of starving if you keep that up.”

“Drive, then,” I said, tapping the dashboard. Ratchet’s engine revved loudly, and soon we were driving through a pathway that led us out into a beautiful night.

The mechanical silo suddenly opened into a stunning red desert, dark and cool, the nighttime sky black and littered with more stars than I’d ever seen in New York. I scrambled to roll the window down and leaned out, gazing up at them, mouth dropping open. My heart began to pound as I absorbed the sight, eyes opened as wide as possible.

“Stargazing, Hana?” Ratchet asked, zooming forward.

I couldn’t speak. The sky was _gorgeous_ , no light pollution to be seen, just an army of bright white stars stretching as far as I could see. They glittered more brightly and beautifully than anything I had ever seen before—my home had always been adjacent to big cities, smothering the sky with light pollution. But now… I felt as though I could see the entire galaxy cresting above me in a large arch, the light thousands of years old but still burning perfectly against my eyes.

I noticed Ratchet’s speed decreasing. I smiled.

“It’s gorgeous,” I called over the wind in my ears.

“Earth is a beautiful planet,” Ratchet agreed. “Shame that planets such as these get destroyed by the very ones who call it home.”

His voice was suddenly extremely bitter. I leaned back in the window and gazed at the steering wheel, which was turning on its own, easily following the long road in front of us.

“Hey, Ratchet,” I asked quietly. “Why doesn’t Bumblebee talk? The rest of you do,”

A very long, pregnant pause followed. Ratchet kept up his pace, but I noticed his turns were now slightly stiffer, jerkier.

“There was an… accident,” Ratchet said, his voice slow and deliberate. “During the war. He was tortured by Megatron himself, the infamously cruel leader of the Decepticons, and Bumblebee refused to give vital tactical information to the Decepticons upon capture. His valor to the Autobot cause was punished by the near fatal destruction of his body, and the loss of his voice box.

“A field medic managed to save his spark—his life—but his voice has been gone ever since. His voice box was nothing short of ruined.”

I paused, blinking, trying to imagine the bright, bubbly Bumblebee withstanding war torture. “At least he’s alive, right?” I said. “That’s some medic, saving him from the brink of death.”

Ratchet grew silent for a long time. “The medic should have done a better job,” he said callously. 

I didn’t dare push the subject any farther and instead watched the stars through the window for a few long, quiet minutes. Unnatural lights pierced the serenity from over a hill, and I tapped gently on the dashboard again. “To your right,” I said, grateful to cut through the deafening silence. “There’s a gas station. I can grab some food there.”

Ratchet didn’t say anything but pulled into the parking lot nonetheless. I hopped out, filled my arms with as much food and drinks as I could afford, and stumbled back toward Ratchet, who was waiting patiently for me. 

We drove back, and I stared out the window, losing myself once again in the stars, unaware of how significantly the previously strained silence had lightened.

~

He had _just_ managed to reassure himself that she would be okay, that his medical care was enough for her. And she had gone and mentioned Bumblebee. The eternal chink in his armor. His ultimate failure that he was reminded of any time Bumblebee communicated.

But she was none the wiser to his guilty conscious—she stared out of his windows, watching the stars with a troubled but awestruck expression. Her hair whipped around her face, dirty and somehow still shining in the moonlight. He wondered if this was as good as stars got on Earth.

The night sky was most beautiful on Cybertron, he thought wistfully. 

He wondered absently if she would ever see the only place he’d ever felt truly at home.

Her awe was so innocent, so strange given his usual distaste for starlight. He could see the stars sparkling against her dark eyes, opened so widely that he was sure he could have counted the reflections if he’d so intended. 

He cast his gaze from the road for a moment, sharing a glance at the sky that had so deeply fixated Hana. She was transfixed, leaning as far as she possibly could, clearly trying to capture every inch of the sky in her memory. He looked forward once again, trying to ignore the thudding of his spark in its casing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lovely fluffy, slightly angsty update. I was listening to [this song](https://youtu.be/DOaeop745RE) basically nonstop while writing this chapter. It became sort of a theme song for the whole story. Def give it a listen if it's up your alley.


	5. Hash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her body may be busted to hell and back, but Hana's brain is proving to be more useful than anticipated.

I was so distracted by the stars that I only remembered my raging hunger until we pulled back inside the base. I climbed out of the passenger’s seat and grabbed my food, quietly slinking to my bed to stuff my face as Ratchet returned to his natural humanoid form.

Once my hunger faded, my once-empty stomach bloated full of food with little to no nutritional value, I glanced up at the medic. He was looking at a screen, hands frozen instead of dancing over the keys as they had been all day. His face was rigid, staring at the blinking red characters.

I stood up and walked over to him, reaching out a hand. I hesitated, withdrew it for a moment, then bravely placed it on his leg. He blinked jadedly, looking down at me.

“Is something wrong?” he said. His mind was obviously somewhere else.

“I’m fine, are—are _you_ alright?”

He looked slightly taken aback. “Yes, Hana,” he said, looking closely at me. “Do I seem upset to you?”

I took my hand off his leg. “Guess not, no. Just quiet.”

“I’m—I’m thinking about work,” he said, blatantly dodging my remark. I didn’t push for a better answer and instead climbed the stairs next to him, peering at the screen. 

“Is this Cybertronian?” I asked, attempting badly to change the subject. “The language, I mean.”

“Yes,” Ratchet said, regaining his collected tone. “I’m trying to decrypt some important coordinates, but my luck has been wearing thin these past weeks.”

“You’ll get it,” I said with a smile. He turned his head and returned the grin for a moment.

“We can only hope.” 

I leaned further forward, trying to see the screen more clearly. “Is decryption done with hash functions on Cybertron?”

Ratchet looked puzzled. “Hash functions?”

“You know, SHA1, MD5, stuff like that,” I said. “The letters get randomly encrypted based on the function you use, and without knowing the function, they’re basically impossible to decipher.”

Ratchet looked at me for a long moment. “I hadn’t considered anything of the sort,” he said slowly. “I’ve been using common decoding methods, far too simplistic for information of this magnitude. This _hash_ of which you speak… is entirely possible for coordinates this important.”

I didn’t want to overstep my complicated question quota for the day and refrained from asking what the coordinates were for despite my burning curiosity.

“Do Cybertronians have something similar?” I asked, settling on something simpler.

“Possibly,” he said, eyes darting across the screen. “We’ll soon find out.”

I leaned farther forward in attempts to see how Cybertronian words were composed, overestimating yet again how flexible my left leg was and tipping forward, gasping sharply as I teetered over the handrail. Ratchet swung around and deftly caught me, looking mildly amused.

“You seem to be having issues grasping the concept of _recovery_ ,” he said, smirking at me. I glared at him.

“I’m tired,” I said defensively, my eyes shifting toward his screen. He followed my gaze, sighed, and lifted me onto his shoulder. My body nestled quite nicely in the space between his bulky shoulders and his neck, and from here, the screen was far more impressive—it was much larger up close than it appeared from the floor.

“Wow,” I breathed for the millionth time. Ratchet chuckled, his shoulders shifting slightly with each breath.

“Your amazement with my technology is flattering,” he said. “Can you even understand what I’m writing?”

“Not at all,” I said happily. “Are your letters similar to human letters?”

“Based on my studies of human language, our lettering system is similar to Japanese,” he said, gesturing to a few characters on the screen. “The simple characters represent sounds, and the more complicated ones are common words.”

“Do you have a chart or anything?”

“The sounds are likely impossible for a human to make,” he said, shaking his head gently. “If you wish, I can translate as I write.”

I nodded enthusiastically. 

“This—” he said as he typed— “is a search engine of sorts. It accesses a massive database on Cybertron that managed to survive the war. I’m searching now for something like that of your hash functions.”

“Cool,” I said, leaning forward, gripping carefully on one of the many ridges on Ratchet’s shoulder. His expression melted into that strange, unreadable gaze for a moment before hardening back to normal.

Hours went by, with Ratchet carefully explaining what he was typing out, even speaking genuine Cybertronian to me and scoffing angrily when I snickered at the strange noises emitting from his throat. 

Eventually my vision began to grow fuzzy, and I found my head slowly tilting downwards as I began to nod off. Ratchet looked at me without turning his head and grew quieter, speaking only occasionally. I looked into his soft blue gaze as my eyes shut for the final time, falling asleep as that strange, unreadable expression slid over his face once again.

~

Arcee awoke confused when she heard voices coming from the main room.

She sat upright, immediately tense at hearing sound so late, her arms transforming into guns. She listened carefully, unmoving, and heard the faint sound of Ratchet’s voice. Her body relaxed, and her guns turned back into servos.

She crept from her recharging quarters to see what was happening, keeping her footsteps light as she walked forward, pressing against the wall and peering in the direction of Ratchet’s silhouette in the main room.

“Look now, watch as I type- _sekhin breskinar chorrtal fuhnrek._ ” 

_What the—is he speaking Cybertronian?_ Arcee narrowed her optics and focused on Ratchet, noticing the unfamiliar shape resting on his left shoulder.

“Don’t laugh!” Ratchet snapped as giggles filled the air. “That’s my native language, you know! I’m quite proud of it!”

“I’m sorry, Ratchet, it just sounds like a drunk robot speaking awful German to me!” Hana’s voice. Arcee stepped back quietly, suddenly feeling like she was intruding.

“Just insult my entire lineage while you’re at it, then,” Ratchet said, clearly miffed.

“Don’t get all grumpy with me, I’m just being honest!”

“ _Please_. Cybertronian is far more complex and beautiful than English.”

“I can agree with you on that. English is the sad horse shit of Earth languages.”

Ratchet _laughed_. Arcee promptly swung around and tiptoed into Bulkhead’s recharging station, poking him hard until he woke up.

“Uhnn… ugh!” Bulkhead sat upright, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Wha’s happenin’?”

“We were right,” Arcee said. “Follow me. You’ve got to see this.”

Confused but curious, Bulkhead grumbled something and straightened himself, walking as quietly as he could with Arcee toward the main room. They both heard laughter, and Arcee looked back at Bulkhead with an expression that clearly said, “See?”

“Was that Ratchet? _Laughing?_ ” Bulkhead whispered. Arcee put a finger to her lips and nodded. 

The pair peeked around the corner, watching as Ratchet and Hana discussed technology stuff, Ratchet explaining what he was doing and Hana eagerly asking questions. Bulkhead looked at Arcee, tapping his own shoulder lightly with a puzzled expression. 

“Is he letting her _sit_ on him?” Bulkhead asked.

Arcee nodded again. “I can’t believe it either, trust me.”

After some time, Hana’s miniscule frame began to slump against Ratchet’s shoulder, most likely entering sleep mode. Ratchet turned his head to look at her with an expression Arcee had never seen before.

“What’s he looking at her like that for?” Bulkhead murmured. Arcee shrugged.

“I didn’t know he was capable of any emotion other than annoyance, if I’m being honest,” Arcee said. Bulkhead swallowed a chuckle. 

They watched as Ratchet carefully removed Hana from his shoulder, handling her recently damaged body with extreme care as he lowered her onto her berth. He looked around for a moment, bright blue eyes scanning the area around him, before he hurriedly rushed into a far corner of the medbay.

“What’s he doing?” Bulkhead asked. Arcee shrugged again.

Ratchet returned a few moments later with a worn-out tarp, which he placed gently over Hana as she slept. Arcee and Bulkhead glanced at each other with silent, knowing expressions.

Ratchet looked at his handiwork, gently poking the tarp closer to Hana’s body, and a faint smile passed over his face as she clutched the edges of the tarp and pulled it to her chin. Immediately after, his expression hardened, and he shook his head, turned away from her, powered down his screens, and walked toward the recharging stations.

“ _Scrap!_ ” Arcee hissed. She and Bulkhead turned quickly to dash to their respective rooms as quietly as possible, but Arcee knew for sure that Ratchet’s thoughts were currently loud enough to drown out even Bulkhead’s thundering footfalls.

She really, really hoped that Hana’s body would accept the Cybertronian parts. Ratchet had enough demons to deal with as a war doctor. A broken spark would be the last thing he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Cybertronian is gibberish, leave me alone.  
> Hash functions are real, though, and they're super cool. I tried my best to explain them in Layman's terms, but they're super interesting if you wanna check em out.


	6. Removal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcee gets tired of Ratchet's shenanigans, and Ratchet is quite angry that he can no longer continue to shenanigan. Hana's just excited to be here.

A few days went by, then a week, then two, the long hours spent with Ratchet, pestering him endlessly with questions as I stuffed my notebook with anything I could write quickly enough. Ratchet’s computers were whirred constantly as they brute-forced hundreds of Cybertronian hash functions, attempting fruitlessly to decode the coordinates. The lack of success clearly bothered Ratchet, and in his most frustrated hours, I was careful to stay quiet. He was prone to letting his anger out in frightening bursts, aimed at whoever was nearest (which was usually myself).

I desperately wanted to go on recon missions with the other Autobots and see the world, but Ratchet refused to let me out of the base. He seemed incredibly tense regarding my injuries, which felt as though they were healing well, but the casts stayed on even as my range of motion increased. After one particularly heated argument between Ratchet and I, started by my begging to leave the base for just a few minutes to go on recon in Japan, Ratchet stormed off, Arcee following him with a curious glance in my direction. They returned about an hour later, where Ratchet gruffly jerked his head in apology before returning to his work. I took my usual place leaning against his foot, reading over the notes I’d written and trying to figure out a Cybertronian character I’d been stuck on.

I peered at the letter, trying to determine what the dot on the top left corner meant. Did dots make the letter soft or hard? It was impossible to remember—Cybertronian had about a million rules, each more confusing than the next. I turned some pages to try and find references.

“Hana,” a sharp voice said suddenly to me, pulling my gaze from the notebook. Arcee was watching me, and curtly jerked her head, encouraging me to follow her. I stood up, noticing that Ratchet shifted his weight once I moved away as though he had been sitting still on my behalf.

I followed Arcee down a dark hallway, where she led me toward the recharging stations, glancing over her shoulder at Ratchet’s preoccupied form. I had never been this way before except on a tour and was immediately both curious and suspicious.

I stopped walking as she reached to press the button that opened the door to her room. “Arcee?”

She paused and turned to face me. “Yeah?”

“What are we doing?”

She glanced around before leaning down toward me. She was huge, like the others, but much more slender and proportional, the most naturally humanoid in shape. Her footfalls were pleasantly light compared to the rest—especially Bulkhead.

“I want to see your injuries,” she said sharply. “Do you mind?”

“I—” I hesitated. “Ratchet doesn’t want to take the casts off yet. Says it isn’t safe.”

“You were fully healed weeks ago,” Arcee said darkly. “I want to see what Ratchet’s afraid of.”

“ _Afraid?_ ” I was bewildered. “I’ve been telling him, I feel fine.”

“Ratchet is an amazing doctor,” Arcee agreed gently, “but he has some trouble when it comes to failure. I’m betting he might never take these casts off if I don’t do it for him.”

I laughed. “But—but I feel fine! Better than ever!”

“Ratchet may need to see that for himself,” Arcee said. “Promise you won’t freak out when you see your injuries?”

“Why?” I said, suddenly confused. “Isn’t it all internal?”

“Not sure,” Arcee said. “Give me your left arm.”

“Is this really okay?” I offered it.

“Trust me.” Her thin fingers grasped my arm, slitting through the cast with a loud crunch. Her hands weren’t nearly as steady as Ratchet’s, but they were small enough to carefully pry open the cast, revealing a large collection of strangely blue bruises on an otherwise smooth arm.

I withdrew my arm and bent my elbow, flexed my fingers. “Feels totally normal,” I said brightly. “Not a pretty sight, but what can you do?”

Arcee grinned at me. “Keep up the positive attitude. Leg?”

My leg and ribs were the same as my arm—unharmed externally other than some gnarly blue bruising. I bent my back fully for the first time in ages, relishing in the loud cracks that traveled down my spine.

“Right arm,” Arcee ordered. Her face had grown grim.

I held it out, each finger still heavily bandaged and unmoving. Arcee sliced the cast open and slid it off slowly, taking great care as my fingers were freed from their splints. I watched the blueish skin be revealed, unconcerned, then gasped when the cast revealed my wrist.

“Arcee—!”

“Flex the fingers _slowly_ ,” Arcee instructed as she fully removed the cast. “Be _very_ careful.”

My thumb, pointer, and middle finger were intact, bruised as hell but moveable, but the pinky and ring finger were…different. Silvery metal with thick joints extended from wrist to fingertip, resembling fingers but entirely metallic. The skin on my hand had healed nicely, a thick scar visible next to the middle metacarpal surrounded by a wrinkled galaxy of blue and purple bruising. 

“Arcee,” I whispered. “What is this?”

I flexed the fingers, and they all responded well, even the metal ones. The joints under my remaining fingers shifted and clicked strangely, just as the metal ones did, but externally they looked normal. I looked up at Arcee, words failing me.

“That’s what I thought,” she said darkly. “Check your range of motion. Carefully!”

I twisted my wrist in a small circle, then a large circle, noticing the smoothness in which it moved only being interrupted by gentle clicking when I stretched too far. I wiggled each finger individually, gripping my other arm and testing my grip strength. It was far stronger than I remembered it being. Was I simply not used to using this hand?

“Arcee—”

“Ratchet told us that those two fingers were basically shattered,” she said, taking my hand and bending the fingers around, rotating the wrist. “He replaced them the only way he knew how.”

I stared up at her. “Is this… do I have a robot hand now? A real one?”

“Sort of,” she said, guiding my hand into a quick fist. “He made it with living metal, Cybertronian metal. It’s as much your body part as the hand before, just… metal.”

I stared at it in awe. “He was worried about this?”

“Do you blame him?”

I didn’t know how to respond, staring at the unfamiliar fingers.

“He’s never performed a human surgery, keep that in mind,” Arcee said. “The plates and screws holding your other bones together are also Cybertronian and have likely fused with your bones pretty naturally by now. The bruising is blue because the medicine he gave you was energon. It was a quick and insanely risky fix. And none of us are sure how your body will react to it down the line.”

“It seems great right now,” I said, pulling my hand back and forming a fist. “And Ratchet said I’d be fully healed after, like, two days. I guess… I guess this is how.”

“Your body has accepted the metal so far, but it’s hard to tell what might happen,” Arcee said pessimistically. “Ratchet seems to want to keep you around for careful observation.”

For some reason, her words stung deep in my gut. I looked up at her. “Is that the only reason I’m here?” I asked before I could stop myself.

She looked confused, but I saw the hint of a sly grin, badly hidden. “That’s a question for you to ask Ratchet, I think,” she said cunningly. 

I blinked emptily at her. She patted my head.

“Now, do us all a favor and show him that you’ve healed well,” she said. “He’ll appreciate it more from you than any of us.”

I nodded wordlessly and spun on my heel, heading back to the main room. It felt incredible to walk normally, my lungs expanding fully, fresh air pressing against the newly exposed flesh. I lifted my right hand, testing it once again, amazed by the handiwork that had gone into it. It was the exact same size as my old hand, bending in all the same places, rotating in the same exact way. I gently poked one of the bruises on my left arm, flinching slightly at the pain but pleased overall with how mild it had been.

My gait increased to an excited run, skidding to an abrupt halt when I saw Ratchet talking quietly to Optimus Prime. My open mouth snapped shut, and I slowed to a quiet walk, trying not to interrupt them. Ratchet was gesturing at the screen, murmuring something to Optimus, who nodded slowly and pointed to a large blue stripe of text amongst the sea of green. Ratchet agreed to whatever Optimus said, a hotly determined look clouding his grumpy features. 

I stood quietly, waiting as Optimus proudly placed his hand on Ratchet’s shoulder, turning around to return to the back of the base. He saw me standing near my bed and nodded politely.

“Hana,” he said. “I am glad to see you doing well.”

“Thanks, Optimus,” I replied. Ratchet glanced at me.

“Where have you been, Ha— _Hana!_ ” He whirled around faster than I’d ever seen him move. “ _Where are your bandages?_ ”

“Arcee took—” I was cut off as he slammed his body downward to examine me, lifting my arms and legs wildly, spinning me in circles, gesturing for me to lift my shirt so he could see my ribs. I obliged, blushing furiously. _What is wrong with me?_

Ratchet looked more enraged than I had ever seen him. “Under no circumstances should you have removed those bandages without my approval!” he snapped harshly. “What were you _thinking?_ ”

“Arcee did it!” I said defensively, throwing her under the bus without a second thought. “She said you—she wanted to see if I was healing okay. You can rebandage them if you want!”

Optimus had paused his exit and was watching Ratchet intently, a faint glimmer in his grand blue optics. Ratchet’s own optics cycled few times, likely zooming in on the bruises, examining each splotch with incredible concentration. He looked at my right hand for a long time, gently touching each finger, tapping the fingertips to test the reflexes. If I hadn’t been looking closely, I wouldn’t have noticed the slight shame in his expression.

“Erm… Ratchet?”

“Hush,” he said tightly. “How does it feel? Any stiffness, numbness, sensation of cold? Any pain or abnormal pressure?” A scanner appeared from his arm, a beam of light emitting from it and sliding across my body.

“No, no, and no,” I muttered. “Feels just like normal. Maybe even better.”

Ratchet looked at me from under his dark brow. “Are you _sure?_ ”

“Completely sure.”

Ratchet disregarded my confirmation with a grunt and continued to look over each bruise. “The bruising is clearly stained with excess energon deposits,” he mumbled. “I do hope your body isn’t rejecting it _too_ intensely.”

“Ratchet,” I interjected. He ignored me and grasped my right pinky, bending it tenderly forwards and backwards. Then my ring finger. Then the rest of my fingers.

“Functioning seems normal,” he said hurriedly to himself. “Damage was severe but appears to have healed fully, despite heavy bruising. Natural for humans, I assume?”

I nodded. “Ratchet—”

“Can you feel this?” He bent my pinky finger backwards, _hard_ , and I yelped.

“Ow— _yes_ , I _can_ feel that, thank you!”

He pressed a finger against the palm. “This?”

“Yes.”

Touched the very tip of my ring finger. “This?”

“Yes! Ratchet—"

“ _Yip, yip, yip!_ ” He glared at me, optics stormy with anger. “You should not have taken those casts off without my permission,” he said angrily. “Are you _trying_ to blow my fuses? You could have _easily_ exacerbated the injuries!”

“Ratchet, it’s all fine, look!” I grabbed his finger with both hands, squeezing with my full strength. His expression lightened slightly when he felt the pressure from my right hand, far stronger than the left.

“It— _seems_ like everything is alright,” Ratchet said tensely. “Regardless, you should have put more faith in me as your physician!”

“If it’s fully healed, why didn’t you take the casts off a while ago?” I asked harshly.

Ratchet paused his examination and looked me in the eyes. “I—wanted to be sure everything was fully healed before taking unnecessary risks,” he stammered, his normally gruff voice shaking just slightly. “Taking extra time to heal is never a bad idea.”

I knew he was lying but didn’t bother pushing him.

“Ratchet, I’m _sorry_ for taking the casts off, okay?” I said. “I just wanted to move properly again. I keep tripping all over the place. I felt pathetic.”

Ratchet sighed. “You’re forgiven,” he grumbled. “Please just listen to me from now on. I know far more about your new biology than you do.”

“No problem,” I replied, allowing myself to be cheerful once again. “But come on—this thing is really cool. It’s so strong!”

Ratchet’s expression was unreadable. “You like it?”

“Totally!” I flexed the fingers, allowing the excitement of being somewhat of a cyborg to flood over me. “I love it!”

A thin smile lifted on Ratchet’s lips. “Well, I am certainly glad you enjoy it. Though I continue to worry about energon flowing through your veins, even in small doses. I would request you stay in the base for further observation.”

I looked at him for a moment, grinning widely. “I don’t know, doctor—I’m _so_ desperate to leave, can’t you tell?” I said sarcastically.

“I can continue teaching you,” he encouraged. “Your hash function intel was useful, and… unlikely as it is for a human to be of use to us, it seems your alien knowledge could be beneficial.”

I smiled wider.

He scowled at me and rolled his optics. “ _Please?_ ” The word seemed to almost pain him without the addition of his usual scoff.

“Of course,” I agreed happily, waggling my new fingers at him. “I’d be happy to hang around.”

Ratchet gently lifted me onto the bed, avoiding each bruise carefully. “The other Autobots are going on a mission today,” he informed me. “A Decepticon distress signal was located a few thousand miles due south, and they want to determine its source.”

“Can I—”

“If you have a death wish, you can certainly join them,” Ratchet said flatly. “Otherwise, I’d suggest you stay with me, as usual.”

“Whatever you say, doc,” I said, anticipating the massive eye roll that I received just moments later.

“I’ve told you not to call me ‘doc.’”

“Sure thing, pumpkin head.”

Ratchet glared at me. “If that nickname sticks around, I assure you, your ‘cool’ new hand will not.”

I laughed. Ratchet’s expression grew unreadable once again.

~

He was nothing short of amazed at how well her body was adapting to the parts he had installed. The bruising was severe, not enough to cause concern, but enough that he worried about its perpetuity. Her skin seemed to have absorbed the energon and kept it in pockets within the flesh, likely an effect of human antibodies keeping it isolated combined with the Cybertronian biology holding reserves for itself to use. It was incredible, certainly, and proved promising in terms of her long-term health.

He grimaced— _promising_ , certainly, but not a guarantee. 

She sat on the berth, picking pencils from her bag and snapping them easily with her new hand, bouncing excitedly and showing him the damage. His spark pulsed as he watched her merrily break her belongings.

Optimus had long since left the main room to prepare for the mission, and Ratchet walked toward the GroundBridge controls, setting the coordinates and verifying proper two-way functioning. He wondered vaguely if Optimus had seen the overwhelming panic that had shot through him when he saw Hana’s exposed skin, and if he was making any assumptions based on the movements. He cursed himself quietly for letting himself be so flustered. She was a _human_. Why did he care so much? Humans are ridiculously delicate life forms. He shouldn’t have exerted such effort in the first place. He should have allowed the human bones to heal naturally and amputated anything that didn’t rebuild. He had doomed her, in a sense—how was she supposed to return to her life with Cybertronian technology so obviously meshed with her body?

He looked at Hana from across the room, watched her scribble something furiously in her notebook. No—he was glad that he’d given her special attention. She was proving to be a useful ally. Maybe he’d somehow recognized that.

She must have sensed him watching and looked up for a moment, then down at her notebook, then turned the page. Her pencil began to scratch more slowly, purposefully, and he noticed her eyes flicking back and forth between her work and his own body.

“What are you doing over there?” he called. She grew rigid, then her face flushed bright red. Energon rushed through his fuel lines— _what was the matter with him?_

“Drawing you, if you don’t mind,” she replied. He blinked a few times and straightened his back almost unconsciously, suddenly incredibly aware of how large his legs and shoulders were. 

Out of nowhere, he felt a surge of jealousy for Bumblebee. Bee was practically forged to be a fighter, lithe but still strong, broad arms and a slender torso—Ratchet noticed for the first time that his own body was very badly suited for anything other than a laboratory. Large in all the wrong places, and entirely unimpressive. 

“Why?” Ratchet asked, irritated to hear the bitterness seeping through his voice.

He saw Hana shrug in his peripheral vision. “Why not?”

She had such simple answers to everything, answers that denied any argument. He had once called her fastidious, and she had responded with a cheerful, “No, you.” How can any bot hope to come back from that? The straightforwardness almost made him laugh. 

Almost.

He found himself standing quite still as he worked, checking and rechecking the coordinates, scanning for any Decepticon signals approaching the area. Hana was sketching lightly, and when Bulkhead strolled in, ready to go, Ratchet rushed to Hana.

“Let me see,” he said, unable to bottle his curiosity any further.

She crammed the notebook against her chest. “No!”

“ _Why?_ ”

“I don’t want you to! It’s not done!”

Ratchet exhaled sharply. Her plainness had defeated him once again. He walked back to the GroundBridge controls, ignoring the way Arcee and Bulkhead were pointedly staring at one another. Bumblebee looked from them to Ratchet and buzzed curiously. 

“All of you, get ready to depart,” Ratchet grumbled. Bulkhead snickered, earning himself a nasty stare. Arcee elbowed Bumblebee, who stopped humming at once.

Just what were they thinking?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, plot is finally happening!


	7. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This can't end well.

I watched the Autobots vanish through the GroundBridge, and followed Ratchet to the screens, where he was carefully observing their locations. “Everything alright so far?” he asked his comrades over the comm-link.

Bumblebee beeped in response. Ratchet opened a large map, showing each Autobot’s exact location. They were somewhere in South America, deep inside a rainforest.

“What did he say?” I asked tentatively.

“All clear,” Ratchet relayed. He began to speak to the Autobots once again. “Now, you’re all about three kilometers due north of the location of the signal—no Decepticons in sight, but proceed with caution nonetheless. Expect this to be a trap.”

“You got it,” Arcee’s voice replied. Communications went silent. 

“Now what?” I asked.

“Now? We wait,” Ratchet said, looking anxious. “Decepticons can track signals just as we can, and even if they’ve been ignoring the Decepticon distress signal until now, they’re likely to show up soon in response to our energy signatures.”

“Do you usually hang out here, or do you ever go on recon with them?” 

Ratchet blinked quite slowly. “I’m not much use on a battlefield,” he responded. “I’m not built to be a fighter. And I prefer greatly to work behind the scenes. Fighting is their repertoire; observation and study are mine.”

“Good to have a balanced team, I suppose,” I said encouragingly. Ratchet nodded.

“We have a lot of fighting styles amongst ourselves,” he said. “I just happen to be the one that fights from a distance.”

I smiled up at him. “That’s why I’m an engineer and not a businessperson or anything. I’m not really good at face-to-face stuff.”

Ratchet looked for a moment as though he was going to say something, but words never came.

Very long, stressful minutes went by. I leaned against Ratchet’s foot, chewing nervously at my nails, hoping that the Autobots would be okay. A large finger pushed my hand from my mouth, and I looked up to see Ratchet peering down at me, looking far less concerned than I was feeling.

“Don’t bite,” he reminded me. He’d noticed my bad habit some time ago and had been hounding me about it ever since.

I nodded and pushed my hands onto my lap. “Ratchet, they’ll be okay, right? What if Decepticons show up?”

“Decepticons are powerful, but far more reckless in their missions due to their strength and numbers,” Ratchet said, leaning down casually with one arm bent across a knee. “Optimus devised a plan for this mission under the assumption that it was a trap. We have multiple backup ideas in case the others fail. There is no need to worry.”

I nodded trustingly, though my heart rate didn’t slow.

“Arcee to base—we’re at the location.” Arcee’s voice rang out over the comm-link. “It’s gonna be hard to reach—whatever it is, it’s buried inside a big old rock. Bulkhead is busting through now.”

“Stay quiet if you can,” Ratchet said. “There’s some hostile wildlife in that part of Earth. We can’t afford to waste time scaring them off. And tell Bulkhead to be careful! Whatever that is, we need it.”

Arcee’s voice and the loud smashing in the background vanished with a click. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“See?” Ratchet was looking far more relaxed, tensed shoulders lowering just slightly. “Nothing to worry about.”

As if on cue, loud, rapid beeping began emitting from Ratchet’s monitors. Ratchet straightened quickly and examined the screen, his eyes narrowing. “Never mind, then. Optimus! Come in!”

“What is it, Ratchet?” Optimus’s strong voice echoed through my eardrums.

“You’ve got company approaching due west,” Ratchet said coldly. “It appears to be roughly seven Decepticons. Signals are hard to differentiate.” He zoomed in on his screen and exhaled sharply. “Get whatever is in that rock and get out now if you can.”

“The hole Bulkhead made is too small for any of us to fit through,” Arcee said, the clanging in the background faster than it had been before. “He’s widening it now; we’re deep enough, our measurements are off the charts, but we can’t grab it just yet.”

“Bulkhead—make as much progress as you can. We will call when backup is necessary.” Optimus’s voice. “Ratchet—prepare a GroundBridge as close to Bulkhead as is safe. We will keep the Decepticons at bay until Bulkhead can bring the artifact to base. Autobots—roll out!”

Ratchet typed a few things in his computer, and the screen zoomed in on Bulkhead’s coordinates. “Be brief, Bulkhead,” he said tensely. 

“I can handle it, doc,” Bulkhead grunted. Ratchet’s eyes practically rolled into his helm. I giggled, and he twitched his foot slightly, knocking me forward.

Silence ensued.

I watched as the Decepticon signals approached the Autobots and collided, and suddenly the screen was a mess of spinning dots. Ratchet and I stared intently, watching the battle from thousands of miles away. 

After less than a minute of combat, Bulkhead’s signal began to move toward the fight.

“Whoa, whoa,” I said, tapping wildly on Ratchet’s leg. “Why is he moving away so soon?”

“Optimus must have called for him,” Ratchet replied grimly. “I doubt those were just Decepticon lackeys. There must be high ranking officers amongst them.”

“Is everyone gonna be okay?”

“Most likely,” Ratchet said, though his voice was tense. “Bulkhead—is the object in the open right now?”

A brief silence followed by a series of panicked beeps from Bumblebee. Ratchet groaned.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He said Breakdown is there,” Ratchet said, his voice hard as steel. “Bulkhead’s Decepticon nemesis. Bulkhead likely broke rank of his own accord… Foolishly, I might add.”

“Ratchet.” Optimus’s voice was tense and labored. “Send the GroundBridge.”

“Are you departing?” Ratchet threw the lever down to activate the GroundBridge, which whirled to life in a tangle of color.

“No,” Optimus said. “Starscream and Breakdown are both here. Hana is coming through.”

I froze. Ratchet stared at me, blue optics wider than I’d ever seen them.

“Come again?” Ratchet said confusedly. “Did you say _Hana_ is coming through?”

“The tunnel Bulkhead made is just wide enough for her to crawl in. She will be able to get in, retrieve what is inside, and make it through to base when we take our leave. Give her a tracking device so you will be able to follow her signal. We will retreat when she returns safely to base.”

“Optimus,” Ratchet breathed, looking panicked. “With all due respect—”

“Quickly,” Optimus said firmly. “We will protect her at all costs.”

Ratchet looked down at me, and for the first time I saw genuine concern written across his faceplates. “Please, consider the—”

“Ratchet! We can only hold them for so long.”

Ratchet looked incredibly torn but inevitably obeyed his leader, dashing across the room to grab a small black device. He pressed it against my right palm and twisted, and it clicked strangely into place. I shuddered at the sensation, eyes locked on Ratchet, whose gaze shifted toward me.

“This comm-link will allow us to communicate, and I will be able to pinpoint your exact location no matter where you are.” His voice was hurried. “Press this blue button here to open communication to the rest of us. This red button will shut off signals completely, ingoing or outgoing. Press it if you find yourself in a place where our voices could compromise your mission. Hopefully it will not be necessary.

“Hana—I _will_ ensure that you come back safely,” he promised, his hand lingering on mine. “ _Please_ be careful.”

I was frozen in place. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I said nervously, my heart thudding against my ribs, threatening to explode out of my chest entirely. “I’ve never done recon, and now I’m gonna a few meters from a fight?”

“You will be fine,” Ratchet assured me firmly. “You’ll be at a safe distance. Stay away from the Decepticons at all costs if they relocate. Your safety is my number one priority. Do you understand?”

I looked up at him, unable to calm my nerves despite the fiery truth blazing in his optics. “If Optimus says this is okay,” I said slowly, “it will be, right?”

“I trust Optimus with my life,” Ratchet said, squeezing my hand. I glanced at it and noticed he was pressing a small button in the center of the device. My heart deflated a bit.

“Please, Hana, be careful,” Ratchet said once again. “I—you’ve helped a lot so far. I don’t want—I want to work further with you… if possible.”

“I will be, Ratchet,” I whispered, looking deeply into his optics. He looked profoundly worried but smiled widely at my dedication. 

“Go, quickly,” he urged, releasing my hand. “They need you.”

I nodded, a rush of adrenaline and determination flooding through my body as he looked at me. Without thinking, I tightly hugged Ratchet’s outstretched hand before spinning on my heel and dashing through the GroundBridge.

~

He watched her shape vanish, energon propelling through his systems. A tiny dot indicating her location appeared on his screen, and he breathed a sigh of relief that her arrival had been safe.

So why hadn’t his fuel pump slowed down?


	8. Claustrophobic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to today's episode of "Is Hana An Idiot Or Is She Just Really, Really Unlucky?"

I stumbled through the colorful mess that was the inside of the GroundBridge, the dazzling blur of color rendering me woozy in seconds. I staggered forward, suddenly stepping into blinding humidity, immediately feeling overheated as a rush of steamy rainforest air blasted my hair backwards into a sticky tangle. The heat was smothering, far less comfortable than the cool breeziness of the Autobot base, pressing in on me from every angle. I started to sweat profusely in seconds.

“Hana?” Ratchet’s voice emitted from my right hand, tinny but just as tense as it had been before.

I shakily pressed my comm-link.

“I’m here,” I whispered into my palm. “Where do I go?”

“Fifty yards due east,” Ratchet informed me. “Toward the sun.”

I shielded my eyes, locating the dazzling sun easily, and saw my target within seconds of running—a massive rock face with a narrow hole smashed haphazardly in the side, deepened into a thin cave by what appeared to be a laser beam.

The sound of fighting robots was unmistakable: the awful grinding metal, trees being uprooted, and heavy thudding was closer than I’d imagined it to be. Dizzy with nerves and adrenaline, I ran toward the rock and clambered toward the hole.

“I’m in,” I murmured, forcing my body into the narrow niche. “It’s a tight fit.”

“You’re doing fine,” Ratchet said reassuringly. “Find whatever it is and get out as soon as you can. I will leave the GroundBridge open until you return.”

Another voice sounded through my palm. “Hana—are you inside?” Optimus’s voice was clearly winded.

“Just got in,” I said tensely. “It’s hard to see, but I’m digging around. There’s a lot of rubble in here.”

“I did my best!” Bulkhead’s voice was indignant.

I chuckled to myself and crept deeper into the hole, shifting bits of rock around in attempt to find anything out of the ordinary. It was an incredibly tight fit: the ceiling was low to enough to force me to my hands and knees, allowing for absolutely no wiggle room. My fingers were shaking wildly as I dug through scorched debris, praying I would find something quickly.

“I don’t see anything,” I said, unable to keep the panic out of my voice. “What exactly am I looking for here?”

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Ratchet told me. “Keep looking.”

A few minutes passed, dread rising in my throat every second. After what felt like ages, way at very back of the hole, my hand touched something unfamiliar—something metal.

I grasped whatever it was and dusted excess gravel from my hand, revealing an object that could only be described as a fist-sized flash drive. A small pinprick of light pulsed lazily on the end of it.

“I found something!” I exclaimed excitedly. “Ratchet—I got it!”

“What is— _ergh!_ ” Arcee’s voice was cut off as a loud crunch sounded from outside. I winced; she must have gotten hit hard if I heard it from all the way in here.

“It looks like a flash drive? Some sort of storage device? I’m not sure,” I said, turning it over with my fingers a few times. “Is this seriously it?”

“Return to base immediately with what you have found,” Optimus said. “Quickly. We will be close behind.”

I scrabbled madly through the darkness, attempting to feel my way out and hitting myself in the head more than a few times. My knees and hands were scraped to hell, and as soon as I realized that I was leaking blood, I noticed how much pain I was in. My bad leg was practically on fire, and both of my arms ached violently.

“Ratchet, I’m gonna need some bandages once I get back,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m getting pretty scraped up in here.” A wave of relief washed over me as I saw the end of the cave grow closer. “I’m almost out!”

“Be careful, please, Hana!” Ratchet sounded tense.

A few more scoots and I would be on my way to safety. I began to shuffle more intensely, excited beyond belief to be in the open again. Between the smallness of the cave and the immense anxiety closing in on me, I felt completely suffocated.

Until Bulkhead spoke in a voice firmer than I’d ever heard from him.

“Hana, whatever you do, _don’t move._ ”

I froze in place.

“What’s going on?” Ratchet’s voice was low and stressed.

“Starscream just evaded Arcee and Bumblebee and we do not know his location,” Optimus said tensely.

“He’s heading toward Hana!” Ratchet’s voice raised to a scream. “Someone, anyone, go after him! _Now!_ ”

“What do I do?” I whispered, fully panicked. “What do I do? _What do I do?_ ”

“Stay silent and retreat as far from the entrance as possible,” Optimus ordered. “We will force him to withdraw so you can escape. He does not know of your presence—stay hidden and you will be safe.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. Turning around was nearly impossible, but after a few unbearably long seconds, I spun and began to edge myself away from the entrance of the cave.

Everything happened at once—there was a brief scraping noise, followed by long, slender fingers grasping my leg and dragging me backwards. I couldn’t help it: I shrieked at the top of my lungs, my hands slicing open against rock as I desperately tried to cling to something, _anything._

“A human?” The voice was slow and snide, full of sickened disbelief at what it had caught. I was yanked roughly from the cave, pain exploding from my recently healed leg as it smashed against the sharp edge of the opening. Suddenly, I was hanging upside down, arms dangling below me, the flash drive clutched tightly in my right fist. I wrapped my left hand around it, wheezing in terror as I was suspended in front of two huge red eyes. 

The Decepticon smirked at me. “Now, what is _your_ kind doing all the way out here?”

I couldn’t speak. Blood rushed to my head, making me feel both numb and incredibly nauseous. 

I saw the Autobots running up behind my captor, who turned his head and sneered.

“What’s in your hand, human?” The robot had incredibly sharp, deadly features and wore a terrible expression of smugness as his blood-red optics returned to me. His voice was snide. “Give it to me.”

I managed to shake my head wildly, running through a million plans in my head, trying to figure out what to do. The only acceptable option was an absolute last resort, but I had no choice—I wriggled my left hand inside the right just enough to press the red button to shut out communications. 

I couldn’t let the Decepticons know that I was working with the Autobots, or I was dead.

“Give it to me, now! It’s of no use to you. Do you intend to die?” A long finger pressed against my abdomen, making my entire body sway like a pendulum. “I can arrange that, if that’s your intent, rest assured.”

Bumblebee buzzed loudly and leapt for my captor, who leered at him. I heard Ratchet’s voice shouting, completely uncontrolled and entirely panicked. Arcee compressed into her motorcycle form and shot toward us, and I managed to meet Optimus’s faraway stare for just a moment. He looked shocked, the noble aura replaced with something I could only describe as unadulterated distress.

“Help me,” I mouthed.

The robot holding me swung me toward its chest and folded rapidly. In seconds, I found myself smashed uncomfortably inside the cockpit of a jet, which stalled out dangerously for a moment as its engines roared to life.

I pressed the red button on my communicator, then the blue. “Ratchet—” I started.

The plane rocketed into the sunny sky at full speed, and my head rammed back at a horrible angle, a joint in my neck popping uncomfortably. My finger fortunately smashed against the red button on my communicator, shutting it off. 

It took less than a second for the sudden acceleration to knock me completely unconscious.

~

The Autobots drove through the GroundBridge, which Ratchet didn’t even bother to close before running up to Optimus, grasping both of his arms and shaking him wildly.

“You let her get captured!” he shrieked, insanity practically shooting sparks from his optics. “I _promised_ her she’d be safe! She’s as good as dead now!”

“Ratchet, please calm down,” Optimus said.

Ratchet scoffed loudly. “With all due respect, I absolutely will not calm down! Hana is in the hands of the Decepticons! She has Cybertronian body parts and a piece of equipment containing Primus knows what on it! She will be discovered as an ally within moments, if she hasn’t been already! You killed her by letting her get captured! _You killed her!_ ”

The rest of the team was too shocked to say anything. They had never seen Ratchet in this state before—he was beyond panicked, completely wild-eyed, quaking all over as he shook the one Autobot he’d always respected unconditionally. Bumblebee hastily rushed behind Ratchet to close the GroundBridge, trying to ignore Ratchet’s piercing gaze.

“Ratchet, she has a locator,” Arcee tried. “We can get her and the object back.”

“How? By driving into the sky?” Ratchet whirled to face her, and she stepped back, alarmed at his expression. “Oh, that’s right—none of us can fly, and she’s in the stratosphere by now! On the Decepticon warship, which is beyond our ability to track! Did I mention the fact that she has obvious Cybertronian body parts? You think the Decepticons will overlook that?”

“Ratchet, my friend, _calm down,_ ” Optimus said once again, stepping forward, and Ratchet staggered away, slamming against a railing, breathing heavily. His chassis was rising and falling rapidly as he took labored breaths.

“I—I apologize, Optimus,” he said quietly. “I—I just—I don’t know what we’re going to do!”

“Hana will not perish,” Optimus said firmly. “We will retrieve her at all costs. I can assure you of this.”

"Pfft! _Please!_ ” Ratchet’s momentary calm demeanor vaporized. “Retrieve _her,_ ” he spat, “or her _body?_ ”

Optimus stared at the medic, who was glaring at Optimus with malice carved into every feature. His faceplates were twisted into an awful glower, optics burning hot with rage.

“Ratchet, we’ve done riskier things,” Bulkhead piped up. “We’ll bring her back to you.”

His words struck Ratchet in a way Optimus’ hadn’t, his optics opening almost imperceptibly, his jaw loosening. Arcee glanced at Bulkhead—he had a determined, knowing expression frozen on his thick face. 

Ratchet stared at Bulkhead, chest heaving, not speaking.

“Yeah,” Arcee said, following Bulkhead’s lead. “She’ll be back to you soon. I swear. I’ll do anything I can.”

_You’ll be together again before you know it,_ Bumblebee piped up.

“And you know better than anyone that she’s a smart girl,” Bulkhead added. “She’ll find a way to keep the Decepticons from being suspicious of her hand.”

Optimus turned to face his three warriors, wondering how they had managed to silence Ratchet’s panic so easily. He looked back at Ratchet, whose chassis was still palpitating, but his joints seemed to be unwinding just slightly.

“Yes,” Ratchet mumbled, lowering his optics. “Of course.”

A tense silence followed. No one dared say a word.

Ratchet straightened and walked toward Hana’s berth, noticing one of her notebooks hanging from the edge. He gently picked it up, flipping through page upon page of notes, feeling energon rush through his fuel lines. 

He read through her words, studying her handwriting, thinking of the annoying scratch of her pencil against paper. She doodled occasionally across her notes, sketching eyes and diagrams and miniscule, untidy interpretations of the Autobots. One page contained a jumble of long, sweeping lines, and he paused, peering at it.

It was _him._ The drawing she had been working on. It was rough, still in the beginning stages of becoming art, but Ratchet believed he had never seen something so elegant. He was standing stiffly in the picture, gazing at a coarsely drawn screen, his body lines sketched with elegant curves and majestically sharp edges. Was this how Hana saw him? Did he even look like this at all?

He couldn’t take it anymore, and slammed the pages shut.

“I think I need a moment to calm down,” Ratchet said quietly, setting the notebook down. “Please excuse me. Let me know if you hear from her. Please.”

He walked gruffly from the main room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. Arcee nervously chewed at her lower lip, optics on Bulkhead, who was looking pleased with himself. She couldn’t help but grin—Bulkhead certainly had a good head on his shoulders, calming Ratchet like that.

_Sir—_ Bumblebee stepped forward, bravely penetrating the silence. _The distress signal isn’t on the map anymore. Hana got her hands on the object for sure._

Optimus nodded. “All the more reason to locate her and bring her back as soon as we can. She is a vital member of the team and in possession of valuable materials.”

The team nodded and dispersed to their respective recharging stations. Ratchet held his breath as they passed to make sure no one would hear how pathetic he sounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all saw that one coming.


	9. Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana does something right for once in her life.

“Ugh…”

It was almost normal at this point to wake up bleary-eyed and dazed. My entire body was sore, particularly my neck, which was throbbing painfully and giving me a headache that sent sparks across my vision whenever I moved.

“Ow…”

I pushed myself upright from a hard metal floor, grunting in pain as my badly scraped hands pressed against the ground. I attempted to stand, staggering and blacking out for a moment, collapsing to the floor and whimpering.

“R-Ratchet… God fucking dammit...”

I lay down to ease the pressure in my skull, looking at the room I was in. The ceiling above me glowed faintly with cold purple lights, very far away. I reached up with my right hand, which glimmered slightly under the bulbs.

The shade of violet on the walls was vaguely familiar. I wracked my muddled thoughts, trying to place it, and sighed aloud when I realized where I knew it from. Everything came rushing back to me at once, and I lay back, heart racing, eyes closed in exasperation.

I didn’t know where I was specifically, but I knew without a doubt that I was inside enemy territory.

Decepticons.

I yanked my shirt upright, ripping a small hole with my teeth and tugging hard at the fabric, slicing what I could into long, messy strips. I took the shreds and wrapped them around my right hand, carefully arranging them around the exposed metal, praying that no one had noticed them. I looked around intently and saw no doors, windows, or—thankfully—guards.

I pressed the red button on my communicator, then the blue. “H-hello?” I whispered. “Anyone? Ratchet?”

A brief pause before a voice responded. “Let me get him for you.” It was Arcee. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Mere seconds had passed when Ratchet’s voice exploded from my palm. “Hana! You’re alive? Are you okay? It’s been hours! Do you know where you are? Primus, I’m so glad you’re alive. I’ve been worried sick. Are—”

“Keep your voice down!” I hissed. “I don’t know if anyone is listening to me. I think I’ve been kidnapped.”

“Right.” Ratchet’s voice was much lower now. “You’re correct. You’re on the Nemesis, the Decepticon warship. Unfortunately, it is not only beyond our tracking abilities in terms of location, but it’s also heavily cloaked. It will be incredibly difficult for us to trace you in your present state.”

“What do I do?” I whispered, fear coursing through me. “I-I covered my arm, I don’t think anyone saw it, but I wanted to be sure.” I heard footsteps outside. Fear gripped an icy fist around my heart. “Ratchet, _someone’s out there!_ ”

“Hana, listen to me,” Ratchet said urgently. “We will find you. I promise. Contact me only when you are sure it is safe. Do not be discovered.” Beeping from Bumblebee in the background. “Bumblebee wants to know if you have the object.”

I bit my lip hard. “No,” I admitted darkly. “I’ll try to find it, though.”

“Stay safe above all else,” Ratchet said. “I seriously doubt the Decepticons will assume you were with us unless they see the communicator or discover your Cybertronian biomechanisms.”

I heard beeping outside—a door was being opened. “Ratchet, I gotta go,” I hissed.

“Be careful.” His tone was more intense than I’d ever heard it.

“I will be.”

I hastily scrambled away from the source of the sounds, watching in horror as a massive door opened on the wall, seamlessly hidden in the architecture. A pair of red optics gazed down at me, set inside a glimmering scarlet face.

“I’ve been told to fetch you,” the robot said in a smooth, bored-sounding tone. The voice was vaguely familiar, and I recognized the shade of vibrant crimson as one of the Decepticons that had nearly run me over before Arcee did.

A plan formed in my mind upon seeing him, and I pressed the blue button on my communicator with my thumb and screamed as loud as I could.

~

The shriek alarmed every Autobot and turned Ratchet’s world upside down. He reached forward to ask what was wrong before Optimus grabbed his arm.

“We cannot let her be caught as an Autobot ally,” he whispered. “Turn off your microphone.”

Energon coursed through Ratchet’s fuel lines at top speed, but he obeyed nonetheless.

“If they hurt her,” he said, shaking wildly, “I will personally take them all down.”

Optimus glanced at Arcee. She lowered her optics.

“What the fuck are you? What is going on?” Hana’s voice was terrified.

Ratchet furrowed his brow. “What is she talking about? She knows who they are.”

“So Starscream was right,” Knockout’s voice said in its usual uninterested tone. “You really are just an idiot human, aren’t you?”

“What the fuck are you, some kind of—some military weapon? Who’s inside you?”

“Oh, please, _military_ —hush up, princess,” Knockout said, sounding annoyed. “As if I would ever let a human touch _my_ interior.”

“Don’t hurt me! Please! I was just on a research trip for my university—I was following a radiation spike my professor saw—I didn’t mean to get involved in anything!”

Ratchet’s optics grew wide. “That’s… that’s how she ended up at the energon mine where Arcee hit her,” he said, suddenly understanding her plan. “She’s pretending not to know what Cybertronians are at all.”

“Wow,” Bulkhead said. “She’s a quick thinker. Kind of like you, doc.”

Ratchet was too proud of Hana to even be annoyed at being called ‘doc.’

“You humans really don’t know anything, do you?” Knockout sounded tired. “What you _really_ did was interfere in a battle you know nothing about and _somehow_ find something containing very important information to our cause.”

Knockout muttered something imperceptibly before continuing. “Our leader wishes to speak to you regarding the situation. Follow me.”

“ _Fuck_ no!” Hana may have sounded terrified and confused to an untrained audial receptor, but Ratchet could tell now that she was acting. The fear she had expressed upon first arriving at the Autobot base had been genuine—this was entirely fabricated. Her voice wasn’t shaking at all, and she wasn’t stumbling over her words. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on!”

Knockout sighed. “Shut up and come with me.” Footsteps walked toward Hana, and she cried out in genuine pain as someone shoved her. Ratchet grimaced. “Come _on_. I have detailing to do. I’d really rather be anywhere else than with you.”

“Ditto,” Hana spat. Ratchet’s spark swelled with pride. 

“If you won’t come willingly, we’ll just have to drag you,” Knockout said, sounding incredibly bored with the endeavor. “Guards, if you please.”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Hana snarled, and after some scuffling, the communication was cut.

Ratchet gritted his teeth and began to type, his spark seizing at the thought of Hana’s predicament. “We need to figure out how to find her as soon as possible,” he said sharply. “Perhaps if we can amplify the signal on her communicator—”

“Hold on a second,” Arcee said crossly, hands on her hips. “Shouldn’t we be worrying about the fact that Hana is being taken to _Megatron_ right now?”

Ratchet’s fuel pump rose into his throat with fear. “Hana is smart,” he said, mostly to reassure himself. “She’ll be okay.”

“Against the smartest tactician the Decepticons have?” Arcee said uncertainly. Ratchet turned to face her, frustrated with her lack of faith but understanding her misgivings.

“We can only hope,” he said quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wE cAn OnLy HoPe  
> Honestly I laughed so hard writing this, imagine someone showing up on your walkie talkie channel and just screaming their head off, Hana you're so fucking weird


	10. Useful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big bad boy makes Hana shit herself.

The two guards carried me easily down the hallway, impervious to my furious kicking and yelling. The red Decepticon looked at me occasionally with disdain but seemed preoccupied enough to ignore me for most of the trip.

I ran through my plan a million times in my head—I was going use the same story that had brought me to the Autobots and try keep myself alive until I was found. It was the easiest way to keep my story straight and to prevent myself from accidentally giving away any knowledge I had about the Autobots. I was beyond grateful that they kept silent while I worked my trickery, hoping they had recognized what I was trying to do.

_Ratchet will understand_ , I reassured myself. He knew how I’d gotten into this Cybertronian mess in the first place. He would know how to keep me safe.

_He’ll find me._

Thinking of him kept me motivated to flail and scream as I was led into a cavernous room armed with countless guards, the sight of which rendered me silent upon entering. Three large robots stood on a large platform in the center, surrounded by screens bigger than houses. One was the lithe, colorful one that had kidnapped me, another was a bulky blue one with a visor and mask in lieu of a face, and the final one was bigger than Optimus, steely grey, and had its back turned to me. I allowed genuine fear to coat my expression as I was tossed onto the floor before the biggest of the group.

“So, this is the deliverer of our data,” the big one said, his voice grainy and deep as though he was gargling gravel as he spoke. “Starscream, I’m impressed. You managed to do something right for once.”

The multicolored winged one, apparently named Starscream, leaned toward me deviously. “All thanks to this pathetic human,” he snarled. I scrambled away from him, suddenly remembering that I wasn’t supposed to know what was going on.

“Is anyone going to explain what sort of Area 51 shit is going on?” I snapped. “I assume if you had plans to kill me, you would have by now.”

The large one turned around, and I was horrified to see that he had the same silencing aura as Optimus, a vibe that demanded full attention, but in a far worse way than Optimus. I had immediately felt respect for Optimus, felt humbled by his presence—this robot muzzled me with fear alone. 

“You certainly have a mouth on you, don’t you?” the large one growled. “Though you appear to also have a brain, a welcome change from other humans I’ve happened upon. We do not have plans to kill you... Not yet.”

I opted to stay silent.

“How did you find this?” he demanded, brandishing the strange flash drive I had found in the cave with a suspicious flash in his crimson optics. I shrugged, eyes wide.

“I was doing research f-for my dissertation,” I stammered, “and there was a radiation spike. I-I volunteered to go investigate. That’s how I found it. That’s all I know.”

“You appear to be injured. Why would you volunteer if hurt?”

I looked down at my bandaged right arm, scrambling for composure, thinking of a lie as fast as I could. “I—I haven’t been able to do a lot of physical help for the team s-since I broke it—soldering and whatnot. I j-just wanted to do something to contribute.”

The Decepticon stared down at me for a few long moments. It was easy to keep a terrified expression plastered on my face, hiding any hint of my cheap lies.

“Soundwave,” he growled to the faceless robot. “Is this story verifiable?”

The faceless robot turned to its leader. My voice emitted from it, robotically distorted. “Don’t hurt me! Please! I was just on a research trip with my university—I was following a radiation spike my professor saw—I didn’t mean to get involved in anything!”

The large robot turned to face me once again. “Excellent to know you aren’t a liar,” he said coolly. “Thank you for your cooperation to the Decepticon cause.”

“D-Decepticon?” I allowed my face to be puzzled despite the panic swelling in my chest. “What are you talking about?”

“We are a race known as Cybertronians, ravaged by war and banished to Earth by our enemies, the Autobots.” _Liar._ “Autobots destroyed our planet in a selfish attempt to control it and refused to work among us when it came time to restore it.” _Liar._ “We are now stuck on your planet, Earth, attempting to hide from them in the sky to avoid attack.” _Liar._ “Fortunately, you found for us a storage device that seems to contain some cryptic information, and I would like to personally thank you for bringing it to us.”

He extended a hand. I reached hesitantly with my right, shaking his finger, careful to keep my metal fingers from touching his. _Can’t be too careful._

“You may call me Lord Megatron,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you.”

My blood ran cold. I’d heard Ratchet mention Megatron’s name many times—the leader of the war against the Autobots, the brilliant strategist, the former gladiator, the terrifying dictator. I shuddered slightly when he withdrew, wondering how many lives those hands had taken.

For God’s sake. How had I managed to get myself in this situation?

“So,” I said carefully, still shaking, pressing the blue button on my communicator. “Can… can I go?”

Megatron laughed, a deep, gravelly laugh that came from deep in his chest. “No,” he said. “Humans cannot know of our existence. If you prove useful to our cause, I will consider keeping you around. Otherwise, you will be disposed of. Guards, please, remove her.”

My arms were grabbed roughly, and I listlessly let myself be carried back to my room—rather, my cell.

I was tossed inside, the door sealed shut behind me. I ran up to it and fruitlessly tried to pry it open, to no avail. It only took moments before I found myself in a heap on the floor, unable to stop the terrified sobs from rising in my throat.

~

“Can… can I go?” Her voice echoed through the main room. Ratchet looked up from his work, stress plucking at his wiring.

Megatron’s laugh. Ratchet’s energon grew cold inside his body. Had she really made it out of a discussion with Megatron himself _alive_?

“No.” His voice was icier than Ratchet remembered. “Humans cannot know of our existence. If you prove useful to our cause, I will consider keeping you around. Otherwise, you will be disposed of. Guards, please, remove her.”

Silence.

Ratchet leaned against the railing, working hard to steady his breaths. She was running out of time—her choice was to either divulge vital information to Decepticons or die alone.

He closed his eyes. He had to find her. There was no time to lose. He straightened himself and returned to his computer, servos stalling over the keys as he prayed to Primus for a miracle.


	11. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana continues to be a snake and Knockout is completely oblivious. Arcee continues to be the only one with any common sense whatsoever.

I had to think. How the hell was I going to be useful enough to be kept around?

The obvious answer was the only one I refused to indulge. I could give away intel regarding the Autobots, the coordinates Ratchet was decoding, our suspicions about what they could be. But I dared not entertain the idea. I would never sell out the Autobots, sell out Ratchet.

I paced around my cell, pondering for a while what could be on the flash drive I recovered. The connector hadn’t been human, and a Decepticon distress signal was attached to it, so it was reasonable to assume it wasn’t Earth technology. Was it some sort of Cybertronian super virus? Coordinates of some sort? A hard drive full of Cybertronian porn? The possibilities were endless, and I was wasting precious time trying to guess.

I looked at my comm-link and frowned, thinking of the faceless robot and my voice ringing out from his body. As much as I was dying to talk to Ratchet, I knew it was too risky. It was beyond lucky that I hadn’t been heard in the first place, and with Soundwave clearly listening in on my every move, I couldn’t make that gamble twice. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered at my palm.

I pressed the red button, a tear sliding from my eye as I lay listlessly on the ground.

I spent a long time slipping in and out of restless sleep, jerked from a dream when the door to my cell was opened. My watch informed me that it was painfully early in the morning, 5:45. Had I been here for twelve hours already?

“Human,” a guard said to me. “Your presence has been requested.”

I couldn’t silence my curiosity. “What? Why?”

The guard didn’t say anything, instead motioning for me to step forward. I thought it best to oblige, struggling to my feet and wiping dried tears from my cheeks. The guard walked closely behind me, pointing left and right as we twisted through an endless maze of hallways. I tried my best to memorize them, failing miserably after the fifth turn.

The room I was shoved into was smaller than the one I’d been in with Megatron, but still huge by my personal standards. One wall appeared to be made entirely of screens, each of which was switched off except for one in the center. I noticed the flash drive plugged in underneath the keyboard, blinking rapidly.

I stayed silent as the red Decepticon turned to face me, his scarlet optics locking upon mine. “Oh, great,” he said with a sigh. “And here I thought Soundwave was going to be the one to give me a hand.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I spat. This Decepticon’s mere presence annoyed me. 

“Play nice, Knockout,” someone said from behind me, and I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Megatron. My heart skipped about twenty beats. “Give her a chance to prove her worth.”

His voice was injected with far more false politeness than it had been before. I turned to face him, confused.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Megatron gestured toward the screen Knockout was looking at. “The information found on this flash drive is written in a human language,” he said, his voice dripping with fake kindness. “We were hoping _you_ may understand what it means.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Human? Why?”

“Knockout, allow our guest to take a look,” Megatron said icily. Knockout begrudgingly stepped aside. 

“Yes, my liege.”

I stepped forward, forcing myself not to cringe as Knockout reached out a hand for me to step onto. I climbed onto his palm, laughing internally at how disgusted Knockout looked as he placed me on the keyboard. He even wiped his hand across his chassis once I was off, as if I had left some sort of slime on him.

I peered at the screen, which was coated with numbers strolling by on some sort of unfamiliar command line. Realization crashed into me like a truck.

“It wants input,” I said slowly. I pretended to place my hands under my chin in a thinking sort of pose, pressing the blue communication button. I cleared my throat loudly. “ _How_ do you expect me to figure this out?”

_Please, Ratchet,_ I prayed. _Please, understand._

~

“ _How_ do you expect me to figure this out?”

Ratchet looked up from his failed attempt at decryption, relieved to hear Hana’s voice after so many hours of silence. She must have found out about Soundwave and was too afraid to communicate now—a smart move despite how much it pained him.

“Are you familiar with the interface?” Knockout sounded bored but interested. 

“I _am_ not.” 

Ratchet frowned, confused. Why had she emphasized that word? Was she trying to tell him something? Was she trying to say that she does understand what she was looking at, whatever it is? His processors whirred as he contemplated, waiting desperately for her voice to return.

“But you know that it wants input,” Knockout said. Heavy footsteps sounded in the background, followed by the sliding of a door. Knockout’s miniscule sigh of relief was mirrored by Ratchet—Megatron must have left.

“That’s only what I assumed based on the fact that it _says_ right here, ‘Input needed.’” 

Ratchet smiled.

“Just because the big man is gone doesn’t mean you can give me attitude!” 

Bumblebee walked up behind Ratchet, also listening carefully. _What’s she saying?_

“I’m not sure,” Ratchet said, his brow furrowing over his optics. “She keeps… accentuating random words.”

_Which ones?_

“How, am, and says,” Ratchet sighed. Bumblebee traced the words into the dirt at his feet.

_You sure it’s not a coincidence?_

“It’s entirely likely that it is, yes,” Ratchet said. “Just keep listening with me, please.”

_Sure thing, man._

“Are you guys _having_ issues with some kind of decryption?” Hana sounded incredibly nervous. Ratchet’s optics widened.

“Having, having, write that down!” he hissed at Bumblebee. 

_How am says having._ Bumblebee looked up at Ratchet, looking concerned for his sanity. _Sorry to burst your bubble, but that’s not a sentence. You sure you aren’t going nuts?_

Ratchet failed at crafting a response, opting instead for a scowl.

“We… are, in fact, attempting to decrypt something” Knockout said slowly. “How could you have known that?”

“I think this takes input and _handles_ it according to what _ever_ decryption method you choose.” Hana was speaking slowly, choosing words carefully. Ratchet turned to Bumblebee, who waved his hand dismissively.

_Handles, ever, I got it. Calm down. Jeez._

“Do you know how to work it?” Knockout sounded hopeful. “Megatron will reward you if you do, so don’t lie.”

“I don’t _lie_.” Bumblebee scratched the dirt. “If you have an input, I can try messing with it for a while. It doesn’t seem like you’re any good with human technology.”

Knockout snarled. 

“Don’t insult me, human. I could squish you like a bug if I wanted, you know.”

“You could. But do you want to do extra work or not?”

Somehow Hana had figured out that Knockout was driven by laziness and was using this fact to her advantage. Ratchet grinned at her cleverness. 

“If you want, I can work with this, try and get some results, give us both some brownie _points_ with Megatron.” Ratchet gestured wildly at Bumblebee as Hana spoke. “I’ll do it for you if you promise to make a good case for my release after I figure it out.”

Knockout paused briefly before speaking. “You think like a Decepticon, don’t you?” he drawled. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours?”

“Don’t you dare compare her to yourself, you filthy excuse for a doctor,” he hissed, bristling angrily. Bumblebee giggled.

_You’re cute when you’re mad,_ Bumblebee quipped. _No wonder Hana likes you._

Ratchet’s chassis stiffened. “Hush so I can listen.”

“Maybe I do,” Hana said. “Or maybe I just want to get out of this hellhole you call home. It’s not my usual choice of décor. Much more modern than I like. I’m not much of a fan of purple.”

“Tell me about it,” Knockout said, sounding almost charmed. Ratchet frowned. “The coloring here is so drab. It could really use a good repaint. Maybe some reds or yellows. Even blue would be better.”

“Orange is nice,” Hana said, almost to herself.

“ _Yegh,_ no!” Knockout sounded revolted. “Orange is the awful child of two far superior colors. It’s a watered-down red. Much less powerful.” 

“Are we going to talk about art class or do we have a deal?” Hana’s voice was far colder than it had been a moment ago.

“Yes, whatever,” Knockout sighed. “If you want to be let out so badly, I’ll make a case to Megatron after you figure this out. Two beneficiaries, one project.”

“Thanks.” Hana’s communication cut short.

Ratchet stared at the screen for a moment before turning to face Bumblebee. “What do we have to work with?” he said, looking at the words scrawled upon the floor.

_How am says. Having handles ever, lie points. Ratchet, dude, this doesn’t make any sense at all._

“Think, Bumblebee,” Ratchet murmured, leaning toward the words. “It has to mean something.”

Arcee had joined the pair and was also looking at the floor. “Practicing your English?” she said, amused.

“It’s from Hana,” Ratchet said. “She emphasized these words for some reason. We aren’t sure why, however.”

Arcee bent down, hands on her hips. “ _How am says having, handles ever lie points_ ,” she transcribed. “Not an eloquent one, is she?”

_Wait a second_ , Bumblebee said. He brushed away a few letters, causing Ratchet to buckle.

“What are you doing?”

_Just wait._ Bumblebee scraped away all but the first letters of each word, leaving behind eight characters.

H. A. S. H. H. E. L. P.

“Hash, help?” Arcee looked confused. “ _Help_ I can understand, but what in Primus’ name does _hash_ mean?”

Gears turned over in Ratchet’s processor as realization overcame him. “That object,” he said slowly, “must contain the key to decrypting the coordinates we discovered in Rome.”

Arcee and Bumblebee looked at each other, then at Ratchet.

“Are you sure?” Arcee said. “What’s this, uh, _hash_ got to do with that?”

“The hash is the specific function that can decrypt the coordinates,” Ratchet said, looking at his screen. “Hana taught me about them. The coordinates cannot be decrypted without this precise one. It’s the only explanation as to why I’ve failed thus far. I haven’t been using the right function.”

_And now Megatron has his oily claws on it_ , Bumblebee said, sounding discouraged. _We gotta get a fix on Hana, fast._

“And how exactly are we going to do that without talking to her?” Arcee said sternly. “With Soundwave eavesdropping on every move she makes?”

Ratchet thought quickly, attempting to scramble a plan as quickly as possible. “Whatever we do, we need to find Hana _before_ she completes that decryption,” he said, narrowing his optics. “Decepticons don’t understand the technology, and I have faith that she can slow the process, but our time is limited starting now.”

Arcee and Bumblebee looked at Ratchet, who had a passionately determined look on his face.

“So… what do we do?” Arcee hoped deeply that one of her comrades had a plan—she was drawing blanks.

Bumblebee remained silent.

“I need to think,” Ratchet said quietly.

Arcee nodded at Bumblebee, who rushed to tell Optimus of the development. She placed a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder, earning herself a confused stare.

“Can I help you?” he grumbled.

“We’ll find her,” Arcee said, though she wasn’t so sure herself. “Don’t worry.”

“Worry is the only thing that _can_ help her,” Ratchet said, optics suddenly downcast and dim.

Arcee nodded. “Worry as productively as you can, then.”

A faint smile shone across Ratchet’s face. Arcee patted his shoulder and escorted herself out, hoping with every wire in her body that he would figure something out. Getting Hana back was important, for sure, but handing over such deeply encrypted coordinates to the Decepticons concerned her far more.


	12. The Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knockout whines a lot.

I spent the entire day in front of a Cybertronian computer, successfully doing an awful job at understanding how to use the keyboard. It was a strange mess of curves and lines, all completely unfamiliar. The encrypted coordinates were even more confusing, being provided in Cybertronian, and I struggled with any characters that weren’t completely basic.

“What’s this one?” I asked Knockout for the umpteenth time, pleased to hear him sigh in annoyance as he strolled over to me.

He pressed a few keys without saying anything. “There you go,” he grumbled. “Are you sure you don’t want me to type this out for you?”

“I need to at least get a good grip on how to input these characters. That way, I can, uh, run different methods,” I lied. 

What Knockout didn’t know was that I was taking as much time as possible, deciding that brute forcing every single character was the slowest and most inefficient way to approach the problem, as well as being wholly incorrect. A hash function like this could only be decrypted by inserting the entire string and running it all at once, but the Decepticons had stupidly underestimated my skills. Their lack of faith in humans was likely my only chance at survival.

I smirked to myself. “Hey, Knockout? What’s this one?”

“Can’t you figure any of this out on your own?” Knockout snapped. “I’m trying to detail over here!”

It was true—Knockout spent an admirable amount of time buffing and shining his already flawless red finish, seemingly bothered by every speck of dust that landed on his chassis. He typed another character for me, and I smiled apologetically, the simple action sending acid racing through my gut.

“Sorry,” I said. “That was the last one. I’m gonna try running this now, and hopefully something turns up.”

“I hope for both of our sakes that you’re right,” he grumbled. “How long will it take to run?”

“Um… a few hours, maybe?”

“For five measly letters?” Knockout rolled his eyes. “Haven’t you already done this at least twenty times?”

“It’s going to be an exponential number of runs,” I said pointedly. “You can do it yourself if you want. But it’s going to take a while.”

“As long as you get it done, I couldn’t possibly care less how you do it.” Knockout reached under his arm and began to scrub at a scratch. “Autobots—they don’t even consider how hard it is to get these marks out. Look at this. I’ve repainted three times in the last _month_. Three times!”

I glanced in his direction. “Looks fine to me.”

“ _Fine?_ ” I couldn’t have insulted him more. “I can’t settle for looking _fine!_ Look!”

He transformed into a red sports car behind me, revving his engine a few times. “How can I possibly have _this_ alt mode and just look _fine?_ ”

“Aren’t the rest of the Decepticons planes?” I asked absently, watching as the decryption began to crawl toward its incorrect answer. 

Knockout looked disgusted as he transformed back to normal. “Human cars have beautiful design, and their planes just look so… average. I would _never_ become a plane, no matter how useful.”

“Up to you,” I said with a shrug. “Flying does sound fun though.’

Knockout scoffed. “Clearly you’ve never street raced!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be a robot in _disguise?_ ”

Knockout rolled his eyes. “I play for the win, not money or fame,” he said. “And I have yet to lose, thank you very much.”

“I bet Megatron is proud,” I said dryly. Knockout frowned.

“Lord Megatron will not know of this,” he growled. “Got it?”

I nodded, smiling to myself. Getting leverage over this prideful bastard was going to be easier than I thought.

~

_He awoke with a start late one night, jostled from his sleep cycle by the faint sounds of clicking and whirring in the main room. Suddenly feeling fully recharged, he snapped upright, unplugging himself from his berth and rushing toward his station to determine the source of the noises._

_Hana was missing—he realized it immediately. He looked around wildly, trying to catch a glimpse of the faint glow of her hand._

_His panic piqued when he heard the innocent sliding of the elevator against its rails. He strode toward it, entering and pressing the buttons frantically to start an ascent. Was someone on the roof? Were they under attack? Or was it merely glitching?_

_He was surprised to find Hana perched on top of the base, arms folded around her knees, staring transfixed at the sky. His spark’s pulse slowed, the worry leaking from him slowly, relieved to see her safe._

_“What are you doing?” he asked. She jumped, clearly startled, whirling to face him._

_“Oh,” she said, relaxing slightly as she met his optics with a smile. “Hi, Ratchet. I couldn’t sleep.”_

_“You nearly fried my circuits, running off like that,” he said shortly, walking toward her. She shrugged._

_“I didn’t think anyone would notice,” she said apologetically. “Didn’t mean to spook you. The stars are just so nice here. I come out a lot to look at them.”_

_He cast his optics skyward, then back at her. The wonder in her eyes was unmistakable, entrancing. His spark trembled in its casing._

_“Well—let me know before you leave the base,” he said, scrambling for an excuse to be following her like this. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”_

_He was caught off guard as she smiled at him, the stars reflecting off her incredibly dark eyes, absorbing the light as though they were small universes of their own. “You got it, doc,” she said with a smirk._

_He sighed._

_“Wanna look with me?” she asked, patting the dirt next to her._

_His spark began to flutter faster. “I—I’ve seen plenty of stars in my day,” he said gruffy._

_“Come on. Please?”_

_She looked so incredibly hopeful, so unwilling to move from her post, dark hair glowing under the moonlight. He tightened his expression to prevent an inevitable smile, grumbling to himself and sitting next to her._

_“Now lie back and put your hands behind your head,” she said brightly. “Like this.”_

_“Erm… why?”_

_“It’s comfy,” she said, turning her head toward him, a large smile splitting her face, every star visible in her eyes. “Plus, that’s what they all do in the movies.”_

_He obliged, unable to resist her eagerness. She was so strangely enticing, her body so small compared to his but her simplistic demeanor so overpowering. She was so keen on relaxing and doing nothing, enjoying the world for what it was—he had never experienced such a luxury._

_“Do you know any constellations?” she asked after a few long minutes._

_Ratchet snorted. “I know of more than you can even see,” he said._

_He heard her exhale peacefully and adjust slightly on the ground. “Tell me about your favorites.”_

_“My… favorites?”_

_“Yeah, like, the ones you like.”_

_“I know what a favorite is.”_

_“Then don’t sound so confused.”_

_He rolled his optics. “I’ve never taken to labelling which I prefer,” he said. “I have no personal relationship with them.”_

_Hana laughed, a light, tinkering laugh that made his fuel lines rush madly._

_“You’re so weird,” she said. “My favorites are Scorpius and Orion.”_

_Ratchet chuckled against his will. “Orion, huh?” he said. “Why that one?”_

_“He’s the Hunter,” Hana said wistfully. “Deadly and silent. I want to be like that someday.”_

_Ratchet let her words settle in his audial processors for a moment, trying to craft an appropriate response without sounding too lame. (He wondered briefly why he even cared.)_

_“You can do anything if you try hard enough,” he said finally._

_He heard her shuffle and turned his helm to see her staring at him._

_“You think so?” she said, looking hopefully._

_Ratchet looked at the stars once again, his spark pulsing, energon rushing through his fuel lines. “I do,” he said quietly, tracing his gaze along Orion, pausing on each star that composed it. Hana exhaled happily, readjusting and falling silent as she lost herself under the distant pinpoints of light._

_Ratchet studied her pose for a moment, altering his own accordingly to match, surprised at how comfortable it was. A few long minutes went by, and he was so caught up in his own thoughts that he barely noticed Hana shift imperceptibly closer to him._

_For the first time in centuries, he allowed himself to relax under the stars’ watchful, serene gaze, trying to see them the way Hana did._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second update today because I can't resist some good old fluff. And Knockout.


	13. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana goofed up. Bad.

“Ratchet.” Optimus’s voice was concerned. “Are you sure a plan as risky as this will be successful?”

Three days had passed since Hana had been kidnapped, and Ratchet was growing increasingly desperate. He hadn’t heard a word from her, and his mind was reeling with the possibilities, wondering if she had been discovered, finished her decryption, or worse… killed.

“I can’t think of another viable option,” Ratchet said firmly. “Baiting the Decepticons is the only way we can reach their warship successfully in time. And with Soundwave watching Hana, we can’t risk attempting to track her.”

Optimus nodded. “I agree that our options are limited,” he said, “but I question the wisdom of putting Autobot safety at such a high risk.”

_If the Decepticons get their servos on those coordinates, we’ll be in even worse shape_ , Bumblebee said, stepping forward. _We know Hana’s about three inches away from that data all day long. The longer she’s there, the more information the Cons get._

Optimus nodded again. “You are quite correct, Bumblebee,” he said. His optics focused on the GroundBridge controls. “Ratchet, I commend your dedication to rescuing Hana and know you would like to help her personally, but no other Autobot is as accomplished as you regarding our technology. Please stay behind, begin preparations for aerial landing, and wait for our command.”

Ratchet opened his mouth to argue, but knew Optimus was right. “I understand,” he said begrudgingly.

Optimus saw disappointment and determination blurring the medic’s features, but the strength in his gaze was enough to convince Optimus that their plan would be successful.

“Set coordinates for the Decepticon’s most recent mining location,” Optimus directed. “We do not have time to lose.”

Ratchet nodded and opened the GroundBridge. “Good luck, all of you.”

He met Arcee’s eyes, and she smiled with purpose.

“You can trust me with this, Ratchet,” she said.

He nodded curtly.

“Be cautious and diligent,” he called after his comrades as they disappeared into the whirl of colors. He turned to his screen and watched their coordinates appear in Africa, his fuel pump tightening in his chassis.

“Hana,” he whispered. “We’re coming for you.”

~

I had never been so exhausted.

I rarely left my post decoding the coordinates, sleeping in my cell for only a few hours a day. Megatron— _Lord_ Megatron, as he so _gently_ insisted to be called—worked me to the bone, allowing for little rest or food, forcing me to listen to Knockout bitching _all day_ for three days straight. He only ever shut up when Breakdown came to visit, and their hushed, warm exchanges were a welcome variation from Knockout’s endless street racing prattle.

The only thing I was glad to see was that my decryption was littered with random letters, letters that in no way corresponded with what coordinates should look like. I was busy starting on the nineteenth character when Megatron strolled in, optics locked on the screen before me. I automatically gripped my waist as my entire body tensed, my aching fingers brushing against a swollen reminder of what would happen if I forgot to use Megatron’s honorifics again.

“Welcome back, Lord Megatron.” The title tasted like pennies against my tongue.

“Making good progress, I see,” he said, sounding far too pleasant, unsettlingly so. “Unbefitting of a human, but certainly admirable.”

“I think it’s coming along well,” I said, dread washing over me as he examined the jumbled, nonsensical mess I’d decrypted. 

He leered at me. “Convert it to Cybertronian,” he ordered. 

_Shit._

“Uh, sir, I’m, uh, in the middle of—”

“Now.”

I had no choice but to oblige, tapping a few keys and allowing the characters to convert. Megatron’s collected expression clouded quickly with rage.

“This is _meaningless_ ,” he growled. I stared at him, voice hitching in my throat.

“Megatr—uh, Master—I’m sorry, I’m doing my best—I’m not familiar with Cybertronian, and this interface isn’t s-something I’m used to—”

“It has taken you three days to yield _these_ results?” Megatron snarled. He faced me directly, and I was overwhelmed once again by his size, stumbling over the keyboard and falling backwards. 

“M-Meg—my liege—sir—I-I’m—”

He grabbed me in his fist, squeezing painfully tight, and I cried out in pain, desperately trying to pry his fingers apart. 

“Start over and do it right this time,” Megatron roared, bringing me inches from his face. His entire head was as tall as I was, each jagged tooth the size of my hands. I covered my face instinctively.

“Please—I will—I’m sorry!”

“You are nothing but a human, a worthless servant of mine! Either you will prove your worth by the end of the mega-cycle, or you will be forced to face your pathetic mortality.”

“I—I—” I couldn’t breathe. Megatron’s grasp was driving all air from my lungs, and my fingers scrabbled uselessly against his vice-like grip.

Megatron suddenly frowned, his optics shifting to my hands, which were feeble against his. 

“What is that?” he rumbled.

“Huh?” I looked down at my hand, incomprehensible fear clouding every thought in my brain. 

My futile struggle had loosened the bandages wrapped tediously around my right hand, exposing mere centimeters the metal that lay below.

_Oh, shit._

I stared at Megatron, mouth opening and closing uselessly. He didn’t budge in his demand for an explanation, his optics boring holes straight through me.

“I—I got in an accident a-as a kid—it’s a prosthetic—” 

It was useless. I knew it was as much as he did.

Megatron’s free servo swiped toward me and wrapped around my left hand for half a second before unbelievable pain ruptured from it. Dozens of crunches filled my ears, and I shrieked, watching my fingers and palm collapse like twigs under his crushing grasp.

He released it and I wheezed, reaching my trembling right hand toward it, watching in horror as he pinched that hand as well. It didn’t give, and though the pain was severe, nothing snapped. I whimpered as he yanked me upwards, nearly popping the arm out of its socket, peering at the comm-link pressed into my palm.

“How very interesting,” he murmured. He tossed me aside like a doll, and I plummeted toward the ground, my head slamming against one of the computers. The world around me vanished for a moment, shades of orange and purple bursting behind my eyelids like bombs. I crumpled on the floor, Cybertronian hand exposed and trembling around my useless left hand. Every finger jutted at unnatural angles, bones demolished and jabbing into the soft flesh, fat bruises starting to swell the skin at an alarming rate. My brain throbbed from the impact, threatening to shut down with every pulse. Blood ran into my eyes from somewhere on my skull, making my hair disgustingly sticky.

“Knockout—” Megatron said to the sneering robot, who straightened. “Take our esteemed guest to your operating table. She may have more information than she led on.”

I was too dizzy to fight as Knockout plucked me from the floor, examining my Cybertronian hand. “Beautiful handiwork,” he said, snickering at his own pun. “Ha. Ha ha. Hand. _Hand_ iwork.”

“Knockout!” Megatron shouted. Knockout scrambled for composure and exited the room, holding me around the waist firmly.

“Knockout—” I wheezed, cradling my destroyed hand. “P-please—don’t…”

“All you have to do is talk and we’ll let you go,” Knockout said smoothly. 

“Don’t humor me,” I said, icicles dripping from my thin words. “I’m dead no matter what I do, aren’t I?”

Knockout paused before shrugging. “It’s not up to me.”

_Ratchet_ , I prayed, squeezing my eyes shut, tears spilling onto my cheeks. _Ratchet, please. Hurry._

“And where do you think _you’re_ going?”

Starscream’s screechy voice echoed through the halls. Knockout turned, and I saw Starscream standing in a strange pose, as though he had paused mid-run.

“Our human friend has some interesting biotechnology running through her,” Knockout said. “Lord Megatron asked me to get some more information.”

“Scrap that!” Starscream barked. “We’ve received word from our newest mining location. Autobots are infiltrating. All units are there. We _need_ that energon after the last one got emptied due to _someone’s_ cowardice.”

Confusement poked through my dimming thoughts. The Autobots had cleaned out the last mine just weeks ago—why were they attacking another?

“Don’t even think to pin that on me, Screamer,” Knockout laughed. “I recall you running away at top speed as soon as you got a _dent_.”

“It is neither here nor there!” Starscream shrieked. “Secure the human and come with me. A GroundBridge is being set on the upper deck.”

Starscream vanished into the hallways. Knockout groaned.

“Piece of work, that one is,” he muttered. 

My skull was full of too much agony and confusion to craft a comprehensible response.

A left turn, another right, and we approached another door to a large room filled with massive, medical-looking supplies. Knockout placed me on a table, strapping me down with thick metal cuffs, and leaned over to look me in the eye. I was too weak to fight the restraints.

“Stay here until I get back,” he ordered. “Megatron will have my head _and_ yours if you so much as move a muscle.”

A single sharp finger grazed against my Cybertronian hand. “Ratchet’s work, I assume?” he added snidely before exiting the room.

I struggled slightly, whimpering in pain, fighting to stay conscious.

_This is it_ , I thought. _I won’t sell them out. I won’t say a word._

A tear streaked down my bloody cheek.

_I’m definitely going to die here._

~

Optimus fired a beam at a Vehicon, who skidded backward from the impact and directly into Bumblebee. The scout threw two well-aimed punches at its head and chassis, pleased to see the Decepticon fall to the ground.

_Prime, what if they don’t send for reinforcements?_ Bumblebee hollered at Optimus. 

“They will,” Optimus said with certainty.

Arcee was hanging back from the battle, assisting Bulkhead instead of directly engaging, keeping her audials alert for the hum of an enemy GroundBridge. One of the Decepticons screamed something into their communicator before Bulkhead delivered an impressive smash to its helm. It crumpled immediately.

Seconds later, the whir of a GroundBridge sounded to Arcee’s left, and she reeled to face it. Three figures exited—Knockout, Starscream, and Breakdown, followed by a small army of Vehicons. Optimus felt a rush of relief at seeing Knockout: his presence meant Hana was likely unattended on the ship.

“Bulk—boost, now!” Arcee yelled. This was their only chance.

Bulkhead whirled to face her, placing a servo on the ground. She leapt onto it and heard a grunt as Bulkhead hurled her toward the rapidly closing GroundBridge. She kicked off at the last second, flipping twice for momentum before transforming into a motorcycle and soaring through the portal mere instants before it sealed.

Optimus looked to his comrades. “Autobots—fall back!” he ordered.

Each robot compressed into their vehicular forms and threw metal to the pedal, driving away as fast as they could.

“We’re ready for you, Ratchet!” Optimus shouted. A GroundBridge opened in front of them, and they disappeared into it in moments. The GroundBridge closed nano-kliks before Knockout could chase them through, and he skidded as he hit the brakes, nearly colliding with a cactus.

“Scared, huh?” he teased at the space where the Autobots had vanished. “Running like you always do! _Ha!_ ”

Breakdown was looking around with a concerned expression plastered on his faceplates. “Did any of you see the two-wheeler with them?” he asked tensely.

Knockout transformed back, trying to remember.

“Maybe she was out front?” he tried. “She’s awfully small.”

Their radios exploded all at the same time. “Return to Nemesis—now!” Megatron’s voice was full of rage. “An Autobot is on board!”

Breakdown shot a pointed look at Knockout.

Knockout shrugged. “My bad.”


	14. Defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana is a selfless moron.

Chaos was running rampant in the halls outside of what I was officially calling the Universe’s Worst Hospital. Shouting, running footsteps, and the occasional sound of engines rushed by the door in rapid succession, deafeningly loud even through the thick metal walls. I painfully lifted my head in attempt to see, the effort proving fruitless.

I grunted and struggled against my restraints yet again, forcing myself to stay conscious as pain rocketed up my left arm. The cuffs didn’t budge, as usual. I yelled out in frustration and stupidly slammed my head back, stars exploding in front of my eyes.

Stars. 

I thought back to the night Ratchet had taken me to the gas station, and the way the stars had glimmered in the sky, each one brighter than I’d ever seen them before. I had felt so peaceful, so safe. Now, here I was, even closer to the sky in a flying warship, and I couldn’t be more miserable.

My mind began to wander. I felt so comfortable around him, I thought vaguely. Everything felt more exciting with him around. Math was no longer boring. Science was intriguing again. 

College had been unbearable, filled with useless reports and tedious assignments that I didn’t care about, forced upon me by a merciless family demanding I be an engineer. I pushed their faces from my mind, replacing the images with Ratchet’s rare, slightly crooked smile. I hadn’t felt true excitement for my work in years, and Ratchet had somehow brought it all back in just over two weeks.

I cared again. I wanted desperately to be learn again, a passion sparking in my gut that I hadn’t felt in ages, a passion I may have never had to begin with.

It was all thanks to him. I was happy to live thanks to him. Even if not for very long.

I clenched my good hand into a fist, trying to hold back tears and failing. My fingers brushed against the comm-link attached to my palm.

I blinked and turned my head as best I could, looking at the device. I’d completely forgotten it was there in all the commotion. 

My secret was out, anyway. Knockout had confirmed that. They knew my sympathies were with the Autobots.

I pressed the blue button. “Hey… Ratchet?”

~

Her voice was weak, shaking wildly. Ratchet closed the GroundBridge, looking at Optimus.

“Where’s Arcee?” he asked hurriedly, tension seizing his spark.

Optimus simply nodded.

Ratchet breathed a sigh of relief and ran toward his computer. “Hana!” he said. “Arcee is aboard the Nemesis with you. She’s coming for you.”

“Awesome,” Hana replied, sounding quite delirious. “You got any spare parts lying around? I might need some.” She chuckled, her tone slightly manic. 

The medic’s energon ran cold in his fuel lines as she spoke—something was very wrong with her. “What happened?” he asked darkly.

“Megatron saw my right hand and busted the left.” Her voice broke. “I’m in Knockout’s medbay. N-not a comforting atmosphere in here, that’s for damn sure.”

“Arcee, did you hear that?” Ratchet asked, praying that Arcee was listening.

“I copy, Ratch,” Arcee’s voice responded. “On my way.”

“No—wait. The hash function,” Hana said, her voice suddenly leaking urgency. She coughed a few times, spat something. “I’ve been decoding it wrong on purpose and the Decepticons found out. They’re going to figure out how it works i-if we don’t get it.”

“Hana, no!” Ratchet’s breaths were coming rapidly, beyond his control. “Your _life_ is at stake here!”

Hana chuckled dimly. “Ratchet, you idiot,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

“I’m not going to let you—”

“Hush. Our time together was better than I could have ever imagined. I want to be a scientist again.” Her voice was steady but cracked hard over the word _scientist_ , followed by a thin cough and a small whimper of pain. “T-that’s all I wanted. I didn’t know it, but that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I just want you to know.”

“Hana…” Words were failing Ratchet once again.

“It’s okay, Ratchet. It’ll be okay.”

Was she really talking to him, or was she talking to herself?

“I’m getting closed in on here,” Arcee said sharply. “Someone needs to tell me what to do so I can do it. I’m running out of time.”

Ratchet didn’t know what to do and looked desperately at Optimus.

“Hana,” Optimus said quietly. “Where is the decryption device?”

Hana’s voice was dangerously feeble now. “T-two left turns and a right from Knockout’s lab,” she said. Her voice was small, so horribly small. Ratchet could barely hear her. “There’s a circular purple light above the entrance and a little dent near the door. I don’t know anything else but that.”

“On it.” Arcee’s tone was resolute. 

Ratchet lowered his helm. “Hana—I—”

“It’s alright, Ratchet,” Hana breathed before falling silent.

Ratchet stared at Hana’s flatlined communication signal. She was alive, still online, but if Arcee went for the device first, Megatron was likely to dispose of Hana immediately in a rage. Not only for her failures, but for her association with the Autobots. But if Arcee went for Hana, they were _both_ likely to be killed, and the hash function would be lost to the Decepticons.

Ratchet shuttered his optics for a moment before pinging Arcee. “Quickly, Arcee,” he said, forcing his voice to be steady despite the fact that his spark felt as though it were imploding. “We don’t know how much time you have.”

“Don’t worry, Ratchet,” Arcee said. “I got this.”

“Be careful,” Ratchet warned quietly. 

“Copy that.”

~

I couldn’t bear to talk to him any longer—not in my current state. I knew I had made the right decision for him: if he told Arcee to come for me first, neither of she nor I would live to tell the tale.

I wanted desperately to be saved, but I knew it was hopeless. I couldn’t force Arcee to risk her life when I was the idiot who got stuck in this position in the first place. Letting myself be caught by Starscream, revealing my Cybertronian parts—it was a wonder Megatron didn’t kill me on the spot.

I was going to die. I was certain of it. My heart pounded, and I took several slow, deep breaths, trying to relax.

I lay back, trying to ignore the throbbing in my broken hand and the stickiness of the blood pooling behind my skull.

I hoped Ratchet would be okay without me.

~

Arcee rocketed through the hallways, tires leaving dark skids across the shining floors. She was certain that none of the Decepticons would be able to catch her on foot but secretly hoped that at least one would be stupid enough to try and navigate as a plane through the narrow corridors. She could certainly use a good laugh.

Her optics landed on a promising door and she transformed, punching the guard as hard as she could, watching in satisfaction as he folded pitifully to the floor. In a swift motion, she grabbed his hand and pressed it against the door, watching as it slid open to reveal with a storage closet stocked with weapons and chunks of energon. She ground her teeth before dashing to the next room.

Bullets flew in her direction, which she narrowly dodged, using her own careful aim to take out two more guards. Why didn’t Megatron station stronger soldiers at these doors? This was practically a training exercise for her.

She burst through a second door, then a third, finally coming upon a room filled with screens. She carefully walked inside, taking in her surroundings as rapidly as possible.

The room was mostly pristine: large, sloping screens filled with nonsensical data, neatly stacked datapads, rhythmically blinking lights. Arcee’s optics swept across the tidy room, noticing the polisher resting on a desk.

This was _definitely_ the right place. She walked closer to the buffer, scanning the floor and finally locating something that didn’t quite fit.

In a corner was a tiny puddle of dried red blood. Just inches away lay a bundle of cloth, ripped into strips—the same color as Hana’s shirt.

Arcee wheeled around and examined the computers more closely, crawling on her servos and knees, locating a small blinking device plugged into one of them. As she removed it, one of the screens sputtered and went blank, blinking feebly as though confused.

“Arcee to base. I got the device,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Bulkhead sounded tentative.

Arcee lifted Hana’s tiny bandage from the floor. “Unfortunately.”

“Get out as quickly as possible,” Optimus’s voice ordered her. “Do you remember the exit strategy?”

“Sadly, yes,” Arcee muttered.

“I will send a GroundBridge as soon as you are low enough for me to get a fix on your coordinates,” Ratchet said, his voice stammering just slightly. “We have landing preparations ready for you.”

Arcee listened to him for a moment as she stared at the bandage in her hand. She clenched her fist and set her jaw. “I’ll let you know when I’m out.”

She opened the door, creeping through the halls. Two lefts and a right, Hana had said. 

Arcee had known it all along and knew it now. A broken spark was the last thing Ratchet needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF AND EXPOSITION AND ANGST GALORE
> 
> Also an amazing person (the very same that convinced me to upload this fic in the first place) drew an amazing picture of Hana and I need to share it. Check it out [here](https://red--thedragon.tumblr.com/post/176237231465/redthedragon-morethanmeetstheass-i-drew-ya)!


	15. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Arcee!

My delirious wonderings about what death was like were interrupted by some loud banging coming from outside. I blinked blearily, lifting my head a few inches before wincing and placing it back on the table. Everything ached. My left hand was shooting needles through my entire body and had begun to bleed profusely, threatening to pop as pressure built inside of it.

I heard a panicked shout get cut short as the door shook. Something had just slammed against it, _hard_.

My brain was dangerously close to shutting down, and I grimaced as I heard to door slide open.

“Just get it over with, Knockout,” I muttered, unwilling to move. “I’m not saying shit.”

“Good to know you’re loyal to the end,” a female voice responded. 

I groggily looked up to see Arcee tapping away at Knockout’s computer, the restraints on my limbs releasing shortly thereafter. Blood flowed through my appendages again, sending fresh pain to my left hand that seared like a thousand scalding knives. Without a moment of hesitation, I rolled over and vomited all over the floor.

“Easy does it, Hana,” Arcee said gently, placing a hand on my back. I wiped my mouth and looked up at her, vision fuzzy, my body trembling violently as though the temperature had dropped fifty degrees.

“You came for me.”

“Never leave a comrade behind,” Arcee said with a smile. “Come on. We gotta go.”

“Arcee—I can’t—my head—you have to go without me."

She ignored me, reaching to lift me up as the door behind her slid open. She whirled around, gun trained on a red blur that stood in the doorway.

Knockout’s laugh rang painfully loud in my ears. “You’re not even one of the tough ones, two-wheeler,” he said, sounding incredibly amused. “Step away from my patient, if you please.”

“Not a chance.” The sound of lasers charging filled the air, and she lunged at Knockout, who barely dodged.

“Hey! Watch the paint!” he warned angrily. I heard the whir of a saw and watched as Arcee slipped out of the way of a deadly swing.

I crawled onto the floor under the table as the robots battled viciously, filling the air with the sounds of gunfire and punches. I had no idea what was going on—the entire scene was a nauseating smudge of color—but I did notice that Arcee was favoring her right arm strongly. The other fist was clenched tightly.

Knockout swung at her again and she dodged, aiming a few shots at Knockout’s head and missing each. He slipped away from a double kick and lobbed a fist at her stomach. She gasped as the hit landed, and something fell from her hand.

I recognized the color immediately. The encryption device. 

She’d found it.

Determination slogged through my muddy brain. Mustering all my remaining energy, I staggered forward, attempting to keep my rocking vision on the flash drive. It glimmered on the floor, and Knockout noticed my pursuit and laughed maniacally.

“You’re in no condition to be part of this battle, human,” he sneered. He stepped menacingly toward me, opening his left side to a strong kick from Arcee. He lurched backwards, and I placed my good hand on the flash drive, wrapping the metallic fingers around it.

_Ratchet needs this_ , I thought faintly. 

“Let’s go!” Arcee yelled at me. I attempted to walk toward her, staring at the flash drive, watching it shift and morph as my eyes tried to focus on it. My knees gave from under me, and I collapsed. The world went dark for a few painfully long moments.

“ _Frag_ —come on, Hana, get up!” Arcee hissed, rushing forward and snatching me from the floor. I kept my hand clenched as tightly as possible as Arcee dashed from the room, ignoring Knockout’s protests.

“Wait—get back here!” I heard the terrible sound of him transforming, followed by the roar of exhaust as he gassed it in our direction.

Arcee tossed me upwards to my dim surprise, and I heard her transform below me seconds before I landed awkwardly on her seat. I managed to jam the flash drive into my mouth and grasp one of her handlebars as she shot forward, steering wildly around guards that fired at us. My left hand dangled unusably, a beam of red whizzing millimeters from it, leaving behind a scalding burn. I barely felt it.

“Catch them, you idiots!” Knockout was yelling, beginning to gain on us.

“Arcee—” I croaked.

“Hang on tight,” Arcee ordered, skidding into a sharp left turn. I nearly fell despite her warning, somehow managing to squeeze my legs tight enough to stay on.

“Arcee to base—GroundBridge in thirty nano-kliks! Vertical coordinates!” she yelled. “I got precious cargo with me!”

We zipped into the open, fresh air beating me in the face as the sky opened above us. I squinted—the light was brighter than anything I’d seen in days. My brain was fighting to stay awake, my eyes settling on the open sky that was hurtling toward us at a hundred miles per hour.

“Arcee—the edge—” I said hazily. “You’re—we’re gonna—the edge.”

“That’s the plan,” she said. With a final burst of energy, she accelerated, and suddenly we were flying through nothingness.

Knockout’s angry shouts were drowned out by the sound of wind rushing in my ears. Arcee transformed and pulled me toward her chest tightly.

“Get ready for impact,” she said through gritted teeth. 

I wasn’t sure how to brace myself while immobilized against her chest, but I decided holding my breath was at least _something_. She looked down at my clenched right fist and smiled.

“Nice grab,” she said. I weakly returned the grin.

Just as the roar of plane engines sounded from above us, a GroundBridge opened at our feet, and we plummeted through at terminal velocity.

After a dizzying blur of color that nearly made me puke again, I saw a streak of tan before Arcee’s body jolted to an abrupt halt. I heard her feet crunch against something hard, and we slammed into the ground horizontally, the sound of screeching metal nearly splitting my head in half. Arcee’s arm braced my fall, the metal bending awkwardly from the immense pressure, but her groans of pain were minimal enough that I assumed she was mostly unharmed.

The GroundBridge closed behind us and Arcee placed me on the ground as she heaved herself upright. I staggered and fell to my hands and knees, vomiting violently, head spinning. The pressure on my left hand was immense, and I collapsed into a quivering pile on the ground, clutching the flash drive as though my life depended on it.

“Arcee, you made it!” Bulkhead cheered. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Bumblebee beeped and buzzed excitedly.

“Where’s the device?” Optimus was standing somewhere to our left. His voice, slightly sad though it was, filled me with relief—we had _escaped_. I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t dead.

I was saved.

“Hana has it,” Arcee said, sounding pleased. I felt four pairs of Autobot optics shift onto my pathetic figure, and the ground promptly began shaking as someone charged toward me.

“Hana? _Hana!_ ”

Ratchet.

I managed to open my eyes for just a second, staring into his familiar blue gaze, his expression one of pure disbelief, energon shining bright in his optics.

_Ratchet._

I knew that if opened my mouth, I would puke again. I opted instead to shakily lift my uninjured hand, the flash drive resting in my palm.

Ratchet’s face broke into a huge smile unlike anything I’d seen before. With him above me, I finally allowed myself lose consciousness, vaguely wondering if I would ever wake up.

~

“Is she… alive?”

Arcee sounded unsure as Ratchet delicately lifted Hana from the ground, gently, as though he was holding some sort of priceless artifact. Blood caked her sallow face, oozing from her nose, leaking from a large lump above her eye. Her shirt had been shredded to ribbons, revealing a brilliantly green bruise on her sunken stomach very clearly left behind by Megatron’s servos. Her left hand was a tragic mess, swollen beyond recognition, bleeding profusely from deep cuts that nearly sliced to the shattered bone. 

She was completely limp, a dead weight against Ratchet, dark red blood dripping from her skull and smearing across his digits. His vents hitched sharply.

“She isn’t in good shape, that’s for sure,” he said tensely, rushing her to his operating table. He pressed an IV into her arm and flooded her body with energon-infused sedatives, forcing his hands not to shake when he realized how dim her breathing was. One of his fingers turned into a miniscule scalpel, which he quickly pushed against her hand to relieve the immense pressure. Blood spurted everywhere, splattering against Ratchet’s frame—he paid it no mind, only bothering to wipe some from his brow.

No one said a word as Ratchet got to work, carefully working to remove her hand and join spare Cybertronian parts together, fashioning a new one. He touched her stump of an arm, frowned at the way it gave under the pressure, and severed it as well. More blood. He wrapped a tourniquet above the wound and turned to his welding station to create a forearm, fusing the newly constructed hand to it delicately.

His spark was racing as he worked. Hana was expressionless under his careful fingers, terrifyingly so. Her face got paler by the minute as blood oozed from her body, and Ratchet scowled as he increased the amount of energon surging through her, wishing he had more appropriate medical supplies. Why had he never bothered to get some? He cursed himself silently, vents flaring in frustration.

_Is she going to be okay?_ Bumblebee asked aloud after several long, silent hours. None of the Autobots had uttered a sound since Ratchet began surgery, and he looked almost surprised that they were still behind him.

“You all can rest if you want,” he said. “This will take a while.”

“We will stay with you as long as the procedure takes,” Optimus said soothingly. “We are a team, and you are doing your part now. We should all witness it.”

Ratchet smiled grimly. “Thank you,” he said. “To answer your question, Bumblebee… I _hope_ she will be. Her condition is stable so far, surprisingly. I still worry about giving her this much energon, however… Perhaps if I concentrate the absorption… and run a line here…”

His voice trailed off slightly as he returned to work.

The rest of the Autobots watched as he attached Hana’s new left arm, repaired the dents in the right, and scanned her brain for any abnormalities. Arcee was fascinated—she had never really watched Ratchet work, and especially now, the care he took in his patient was incredible. His touch was light but fast, every move calculated carefully before, during, and after it was made. No wonder he had been such a highly esteemed medic back on Cybertron.

More hours passed. Bumblebee and Bulkhead descended into sleep mode on top of each other, and finally Ratchet leaned back from Hana, looking satisfied. Absently, he ran a finger across her hollow cheek, watching her chest rise and fall as she slept. He could see her heart beating just below the skin, protected by a surprisingly resilient ribcage, still tainted cobalt from her previous injuries.

Optimus placed his hand on Ratchet’s shoulder wordlessly before turning to return to his recharging station, leaving Arcee as the only active viewer. She peered at Hana, examining her new limb, hoping it would take as well as the fingers had.

Ratchet was now carefully bending each of Hana’s digits, studying their movements, looking content. He examined her older injuries, frowning and slightly increasing the flow of energon through her body once again, watching her vital signs carefully as biolights on her new arm began to glow.

A pang of guilt overcame Arcee as she watched Ratchet touch Hana’s energon-stained bruises. At least Arcee hadn’t _intended_ to hurt Hana as Megatron had. She looked at Ratchet, surprised to see how soft his expression was as he traced Hana’s outlines.

She stood up, the sound reminding Ratchet of her presence, and he turned to face her, looking as crotchety as ever.

“You did good, Ratchet,” she said, nodding toward Hana. “She’ll be grateful.”

The medic grunted thinly. 

As Arcee turned to leave, following Optimus, Ratchet called out to her. “Arcee—wait.”

Arcee looked over her shoulder and saw Ratchet averting his optics almost shyly.

“Thank you,” he said, one of his hands still hovering near Hana. “For saving her.”

Arcee smiled and nodded. “Anytime, doc.”

She walked away, kicking Bulkhead as she passed, who jolted awake violently enough to rouse Bumblebee. The two took one glance at Ratchet, who had returned his tender gaze to Hana, and both quickly staggered upright before tiptoeing from the room.

Ratchet was glad they left when they did. He didn’t think he could keep his optics dry for much longer. He picked up a spare bandage and began to wipe it carefully across Hana’s filthy face, attempting to clear it of tears and blood. 

“Hana,” he whispered, his face within inches of hers. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

Coolant seeped from his optics, lingering for a moment before dripping onto his face—an unfamiliar sensation. He scowled as a few heavy drops splashed onto Hana’s body. Ratchet rubbed at his faceplates and hastily started to dry her off, careful to avoid touching her anywhere where it might hurt, even while she was comatose and unaware.

~

Ratchet refused to leave her side for two long days, twitching any time she stirred. The risks of her surgeries were swirling nonstop in his processors—overdose of energon, possible coma from head trauma, incompatibility issues with her new arm, sudden heart failure—he couldn’t shake the thoughts. His spark trembled constantly in its casing, waiting impatiently for her eyes to open.

And so, he stayed.

“Ratchet, you need to recharge,” Bulkhead said, sounding worried after the first day came to an end. Ratchet glowered at him, and Bulkhead backed off.

“Alright, alright. Just don’t hurt yourself. She needs you when she wakes up.”

Ratchet nodded weakly, his optics returning to Hana, praying to Primus for any breath of movement.


	16. Eavesdroppers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst and action are fun, but sometimes everyone needs a big slap of fluff right to the face. In Hana's case, that face happens to be Ratchet's.

I woke up feeling stiff and uncomfortable—pretty standard stuff. My left hand was throbbing painfully but felt much less swollen than before, almost normal. My head pounded wildly, my brain trying desperately to escape my skull, and my breaths came slowly, labored but purposeful.

“Hana?”

The word stirred me to full consciousness, and I tried to push myself upwards to determine the source.

“Easy,” a familiar voice said. “Don’t move too much.”

I pried my eyes open, blinking a few times to try and clear my vision. Everything had a faint blue haze over it, barely noticeable. His face took a while to come into focus.

“R-Ratchet?” I murmured. I heard a sigh of relief.

“I’m right here,” he replied, and I turned to see him sitting, elbows on his knees, his faceplates projecting obvious exhaustion.

“Arcee…” I looked around for her, immediately worried. “Is she okay?”

“Arcee suffered minor injuries but is in perfectly stable condition,” Ratchet said. “You, on the other hand… Well, Megatron certainly did a number on yours.”

A thin smile lifted my lips. “How did my surgery go, then?” I asked.

Ratchet’s optics flicked toward my hands, which were resting to either side of me. I craned my neck to see them—the right looked the same, bruised with blue and slightly metallic, but the left looked entirely unfamiliar. From elbow to fingertips, everything was shining brilliantly with fresh metal. The palm contained the comm-link, set flush with what used to be skin. A thick joint was driven through the severely bruised flesh, replacing the entire elbow. I grimaced.

“Your hand was beyond repair,” Ratchet said. “Fortunately, I’ve had some practice in replacing human hands. Treat it gently.”

I slowly clenched my fingers, wincing as the metal popped and whined, the fingers shifting fully into their sockets. Then I checked my wrist, which rotated normally, and my elbow, which bent after some initial stiffness, human bone grinding over a metal forearm, the flesh sliding elegantly over the new joint.

“Seems good to me” I said with a shrug. “Thank you.”

Ratchet beamed, his optics shining.

“You suffered some rather severe cranial injuries, so please stay still for a while,” he said. “You’ve been out cold for about two days now.”

I closed my eyes. “You’ve been sitting there the whole time, haven’t you?”

Ratchet said nothing. I smirked, eyes still shut.

“Are you experiencing any unusual symptoms? Any lingering pain?”

I rubbed my head, reopening my eyes. “Got a monster headache, hand hurts a bit. Nothing unusual. But, uh… everything’s kinda blue?”

Ratchet nodded. “You’re going to need to take a relatively small dose of energon once a week from now on,” he said knowingly. “There is excess in your system right now, as your entire forearm was replaced, and I… may have used a bit of a heavy hand in your dosage to ensure proper functioning.”

“Cool,” I said lamely. I lifted the new arm to my face, gently touching each fingertip to my thumb. The sensation felt natural, though the metal was colder than a real finger.

“Hana, I…” Ratchet’s voice trailed off for a moment. “I’m… very glad you’re back.”

I turned to look at him, carefully examining that unreadable expression I was so familiar with. I studied his face for a while—the barest hint of a smile, eyelids low, brow relaxed. It was a peaceful expression, but with an odd amount extra glow behind his optics.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” I asked curiously, cocking my head slightly. The peculiar expression vanished, a flicker of confusion passing over the softened features, replaced by his normal, gruff frown.

“That is just how my face looks.”

“Fine. Don’t tell me.”

We sat in silence for a long time. I expected Ratchet to stand up and return to his work, as he so often did, but he didn’t move an inch. He simply sat there, watching me, his face switching between the normal grumpiness and the completely indecipherable.

“Ratchet?”

“Hm?”

“Did I get the flash drive?”

Ratchet turned his head toward his computer, and I followed his gaze toward the device, which lay calmly next to a keyboard. 

“That’s the hash function we need; you figured that out, right?” I asked.

“I did,” he said. “Your clever wordplay helped us figure out how vital it was for us to retrieve the data.”

“I learned from the best.”

That face again. I narrowed my eyes, trying to decipher it before it passed. 

“Why would you instruct Arcee to retrieve it instead of you?” Ratchet said. His voice was tense.

I thought for a moment before shrugging. “I decrypted the coordinates in a way that I knew would give wrong results,” I said lamely. “If the Decepticons had the function, they’d be able to figure it out eventually. That Soundwave scares the shit out of me.”

“You and me both,” Ratchet said darkly. “We are incredibly lucky that he didn’t hear our initial conversation, and you are smart for realizing that he would indeed hear further communications. But you didn’t answer my question.”

I paused to think, remembering the terrible peace in which I’d accepted death. The way my body began to fail as it tried to pass out, the unbelievable pain every time my fingers moved, the fireworks of color exploding in my skull after Megatron cast me aside. “I kind of just… knew that I was going to die,” I said slowly. “And I didn’t want Arcee to die too. Or for the Decepticons to figure out how to work that damn hash function.”

“That was very brave of you.”

I looked at Ratchet, tickled. “You realize that’s, like, the only compliment you’ve ever given me?”

Ratchet looked surprised. “Is it, now?”

“Unless you think ‘fastidious’ is a compliment, in which case you need to study English more.”

“Compliments are not my forte.”

“I figured as much.”

“That’s not to say you don’t deserve compliments.” He looked almost bashful, his optics fixated on his twiddling fingers. “I just don’t tend to dole them out often.”

“I’m gonna take _that_ as a compliment, too.”

“As you should.”

I grinned. A sudden urge tugged at my gut and I sat upright, wincing as my rigid bones loosened and groaned inside my body. Ratchet stood up, looking strict.

“Lie down and rest! You suffered massive head trauma! Are you trying to send yourself back to surgery?”

I ignored him and knelt on the bed, opening my arms in his direction. “Pick me up.”

“Come again?”

“Do it.”

Ratchet looked confused. “The head injuries are clearly more severe than anticipated.”

“Shut up and pick me up, pumpkin head.”

Ratchet rolled his optics but obliged nonetheless, reaching out and letting me climb into his palm.

I pointed. “Shoulder.”

“You’re quite demanding for someone recovering from major surgery. Most patients would just lie there like slugs.”

“I like it better when you talk less and listen more.”

Ratchet scoffed and placed me on his shoulder, where I sat for a moment, contemplating my next move. Would he be weirded out?

Deciding the risk was worth it, I scooted in closer, wrapping my arms tightly around his forehead. His optics swiveled toward me, glowing brightly, practically blinding from such close distance.

“What are you—”

“Hush.”

He fell silent as I held his helm, squeezing him as hard as I could, trying to say everything I was feeling without words. 

_Ratchet… I was really scared without you. I didn’t think you would find a way to help me. I thought I was never going to see you again. I don’t know what I would do without you. I didn’t want to die without seeing you one last time. I really thought I was going to die. I don’t want to leave you again. I’m so glad I met you. I feel so happy when I’m around you. You make me want to be something._

Ratchet’s giant servo caressed the entirety of my back, and I felt tears slip onto my cheek. I held him tighter, my face smashed against his, holding him as if I was seconds from falling to my death. I felt his mouth curve into a smile.

I opened my eyes to see his looking at me, optics pushed as far in my direction as possible. They were so god damn beautiful from this close—shimmering orbs of glass metal with hot blue energon shining through the openings, thin wiring visible deep within. Tears were dripping onto my face rapidly now, utterly unstoppable.

I couldn’t help it—overwhelmed with emotion, I sobbed and threw myself around him again, crying uncontrollably, shaking violently, every fear I’d held in since I was kidnapped pouring out like a faucet. Ratchet’s hand closed around me slightly, comfortingly.

“It’s okay, Hana,” he was murmuring quietly as I wailed, the same words I’d said to him just days prior. “It’s okay.”

I only cried harder.

“I’m sorry,” I bawled.

“You have no reason to be sorry.”

“This was _my_ fault—I’m so sorry.”

“You’re forgiven, but an apology is unnecessary. I shouldn’t have allowed you to go in the first place.”

“But I _had_ to! To get the device!”

“ _Wh_ —then why are you crying?”

My tears were interrupted by a scratchy but genuine laugh. What an idiot.

After a long, long time, the waterworks stopped, then the sobs subsided. I remained a sniveling mess, clutching Ratchet’s head like a life raft. His hand hadn’t moved.

“I missed you,” I managed.

He paused. “I missed you, too,” he replied quietly.

I sniffled loudly and wiped my eyes, chuckling feebly as I felt him twitch. “Sorry. Forgot your ear was here.”

“I don’t mind. You know how much I love loud, sudden noises.”

I laughed and gripped him tighter.

I held him for a long time. It may have been minutes, or perhaps hours. All I know is that eventually I began to drift off, my grasp on Ratchet’s head weakening. He used a finger to rotate my exhausted body, laying me carefully in the crevice between his shoulder and neck. His hand lingered as I listened to his breathing, falling deep into the first restful sleep I’d had in days.

~

When they finally heard Ratchet speaking two days after the accident, Arcee, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead all jerked upright from their recharging stations, running into the hallway in unison and nearly crashing into one another. 

“Ow—Bulkhead, what are you doing?” Arcee jumped backwards to avoid his massive feet.

“What are _you_ doing?”

“I heard Ratchet.”

_Me, too_ , Bumblebee chirped.

The three looked at each other before wordlessly trekking down the hall, listening to Ratchet as he spoke quietly, words incoherent from such a distance. Their gazes met when they heard Hana’s feeble laugh.

_She’s okay!_ Bumblebee buzzed happily.

Arcee grinned, creeping forward and peering out of the hallway. Ratchet was practically glowing as he looked at Hana, who was still lying down, expression incredibly soft as she stared up at the old medic. The sight made Arcee’s spark quiver.

The pair talked for a while as Hana tested her new arm, which seemed to be functioning well. Ratchet swelled with pride as she bent the new fingers, optics glimmering.

_Give me the juicy stuff_ , Bumblebee muttered, eyes narrowed deviously. _Come on, Ratchet._

Bulkhead elbowed him in the chassis.

After a few long moments of silence, Hana sat up despite Ratchet’s protests, holding her arms out toward him. He looked confused.

_Hana going in for the kill!_ Bumblebee whispered, optics cycling wide with anticipation. _Get it, girl!_

“Shut _up!_ ” Arcee hissed, but she couldn’t help grinning.

Ratchet lifted Hana onto his shoulder, where she snapped like a magnet onto Ratchet’s head, small arms encapsulating his helm. Arcee couldn’t help sniggering at Ratchet’s bewildered expression.

Ratchet gently lifted his hand to touch Hana, and suddenly the air was filled with the sound of ugly sobs as Hana broke down on Ratchet’s shoulder. He looked alarmed and attempted badly to comfort her, gently squeezing her small form.

“I feel like we shouldn’t be watching this,” Bulkhead whispered.

_Me too_ , Bumblebee agreed without moving. 

After a long time, Hana’s crying subsided, and the pair murmured soft words at each other. Bulkhead craned his neck, trying to listen.

“What are they saying?” he asked. Arcee shrugged, straining her audials.

“I can’t hear,” Arcee admitted, disappointed. “Something sappy, I’m sure.”

It didn’t take long before Hana’s body slumped over, fast asleep, and Ratchet carefully pushed her into a more comfortable position. His own frame began to loosen, and they saw words form on his mouth, something silent.

Within minutes, the two were in shutdown.

_Well, that was uneventful_ , Bumblebee said, looking put out.

“What were you expecting?” Arcee asked snidely. Bumblebee shrugged.

_Something spicy, I don’t know! Not Hana crying all over him!_

“I’m not surprised,” Bulkhead said. “She held it together pretty well while on the Nemesis. Had to get it out somehow.”

_I guess_ , Bumblebee said bitterly. He tiptoed forward.

“What are you doing?” Arcee asked sharply.

_Investigating. Come on, look at them. They’re completely knocked out._

Arcee and Bulkhead hesitantly followed as Bumblebee strolled forward bravely. He looked at Ratchet, who was deep in shutdown mode, face exhausted but calm, hand still placed protectively over Hana. Bulkhead’s loud footsteps caused Hana to stir for a moment, and Bumblebee waved wildly at him to stop walking. Bulkhead obliged and froze.

Hana grabbed a few of Ratchet’s fingers as she roused, pulling them toward herself like a blanket. She blearily opened her eyes and met Bumblebee’s.

_Doc treating you well, Hana?_ Bumblebee beeped. Hana looked confused and closed her eyes once again, smiling against Ratchet’s fingers, absently planting her lips on them for a moment before falling back asleep.

Bumblebee turned to Bulkhead, finger guns ablaze. _That’s what I’m_ talking _about!_

“You’re something, Bee,” Bulkhead said, rolling his eyes. “Let’s go, come on. I feel weird watching them like this.”

The three Autobots returned to their recharging stations, leaving Ratchet and Hana fast asleep against each other. Both were smiling.

~

“Ratchet?”

“Hm?”

"Why did you really leave my casts on for so long?”

“What do you mean?

“For my first injuries. When Arcee ran me over, weeks ago. I mean, this time you didn’t bandage anything, and the damage was way worse.”

“Precautionary measures.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“… Before, I was… frightened.”

“Of what?”

“I’ve… failed before. I’ve failed those I knew distantly and closely alike.”

“You’re an amazing doctor. And you did fine with me.”

“I was afraid I may have destroyed you.”

“You didn’t even know me. Why did you care?”

“I didn’t.”

“Ouch.”

“I didn’t at _first_. The closer I got to you, the more afraid I became. Thus, the longer the casts stayed on.”

“… Oh.”

“You’re very important to me, Hana.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know for certain.”

“You have a way with words, Ratchet.”

“You said yourself I need to compliment you more. I’m more than capable of stopping.”

“Don’t.”

“Understood.”

“I’m not Optimus. You don’t have to be so formal.”

“Formality comes naturally to me.”

“I know. I don’t think I’d like you so much if you weren’t such a dork.”

“Someone who truly valued me wouldn’t go to such lengths to insult me.”

“You sure about that?”

“I’m not sure about many things when I’m around you.”

“Then tell me, pumpkin head. How do you feel about this?”

“What? What are you—”

“… What’d you think?”

“Why did you do that?”

“That’s how humans show affection. It’s called a kiss.”

“I _know_ what a kiss is.”

“Then don’t look so confused. Did you like it?”

“In what way?”

“Did you like it or not?”

“It was strange. You’re much smaller than I am.”

“How about another?”

“I suppose, if you’re so inclined.”

“How romantic.”


	17. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana makes some final decisions about her old life. Kind of an unnecessary chapter but the plot holes were bothering me.

Showering felt strange with mostly-metal hands raking through my hair, but I was so happy to be cleaning myself that I didn’t even care. My body was black and blue, scraped to hell and back and aching with every movement, but I was finally safe and _finally_ getting clean.

I sighed happily aloud, rubbing my aching bruises. It had been days since I last showered, and I was still slightly sticky with sweat and blood despite Ratchet’s best efforts. _Cleaning human skin is clearly not his forte_ , I thought warmly as I rubbed viciously at a dried bloodstain on my ankle.

“Hana,” Ratchet’s voice came from outside the decontamination chamber, and even though his back was to me, I covered myself and scowled.

“Do you _mind?_ ”

“I was searching your information superhighway for any Decepticon activity, and… well… you should come see for yourself.” Ratchet turned his head slightly. “Quickly.”

I groaned. “Ratchet, I just got in here!”

“Funny, that doesn’t _sound_ like my problem.”

I rolled my eyes and kicked the massive pressure valve, and water stopped spraying from above me. “I haven’t showered in days! Can’t a girl clean herself well for once?”

“Just come look,” Ratchet said, sounding irritated. “Are you covered?”

I yanked my clothes over my sopping body. “In a manner of speaking. Now what’s so important?”

He turned to face me, his stern expression melting for the briefest second when his optics landed on me. “It’s about your family,” he said. “You’ll want to see it.”

My stomach dropped.

“Oh, shit,” I whispered, tugging at my damp cheeks. My phone had been dead for weeks, completely abandoned in the robot-fueled excitement. “I’m on the missing person’s list, aren’t I?”

Ratchet looked amused. “You’re clever,” he said.

I ran into the main toward his screen, effortlessly leaping into his open hand and allowing myself to be placed on his shoulder. Arcee, who was lounging across the room, smirked.

I stared at what was displayed before me: my name, splattered all over the internet. _Master’s Student Goes Missing on Trip to Uranium Mines, Presumed Dead. Hana Fischer, College Student, Missing. Family of Missing Student Desperate for Information. Single Mother Mei Fischer Offering Reward for Information Regarding Missing Daughter._

My stomach twitched nauseatingly.

“Oops,” I muttered. Ratchet looked at me, unable to contain his amusement. 

“You can’t tell them the truth, you know,” Arcee said from behind me. I turned around to look at her and saw her staring at my hands. The Cybertronian fingers clinked gently against Ratchet’s frame.

“Right,” I said. “I, uh, I have a charger in my bag somewhere; I just need to call someone and tell them _something_ , so they don’t think I _died_. What should I say?”

Ratchet shrugged, making me bounce.

“Tell them you fell into a mine and your arms fell off, and aliens abducted you, and you’re on their spaceship,” Arcee suggested.

I chuckled. “I thought I was supposed to _lie._ ”

She grinned.

I thought hard for a moment, looking at Ratchet, who was interestedly reading the articles.

“Hana, one of your comrades posted your paper,” Ratchet said, pulling up my unfinished dissertation, which was far past due. “I must say, even incomplete, this is impressive work.”

I skimmed the dissertation, surprised at how uninspired it seemed as my eyes skated across the words. The writing was flat, deeply informational but completely passionless. “Not to me,” I grumbled. “I hated every second of this research. I’m not finishing it.”

“You may have to,” Ratchet said with a strange edge in his voice. “Is it really wise to abandon your life? Especially after everything that happened with the Decepticons?”

“My dissertation was due weeks ago,” I argued. “I’m not doing it again! And without it, I can’t get my degree. _Plus,_ the Decepticons will be riding my ass the moment they see me in public. _Plus,_ have you _seen_ my hands lately?”

“You’ve never brought up your family,” Ratchet said, suddenly glaring at me with suspicion, ignoring every word I had just said. “Why not?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Hana, they—”

“I’m not going back to them!” I snapped. Ratchet looked taken aback at my insistence. 

“I’m sure Optimus will let you stay,” Arcee reminded me, clearly looking to change the subject. “You’re a welcome member of Team Prime. You’ve got the brains and the body parts to match.”

Ratchet was staring firmly forward, and my stomach lurched at the thought of leaving him. If he knew—if there was any way to make him understand why I couldn’t leave—I would have said it in an instant. 

And suddenly, I had an idea.

“Let me down,” I said, climbing toward his chest and jumping off. He caught me in midair, looking surprised.

“What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously.

“Calling my mom,” I said, unable to ignore the obvious crack in my voice. I felt his optics boring holes in my back as I strolled toward my backpack, digging out the phone and its charger. I jammed the plug into the wall, watching the screen spark to life.

“Do you have a plan?” Arcee asked. I nodded.

“Arcee, you just have to stay quiet,” I said. She looked puzzled.

“Why?”

“Trust me. You’ll see why.”

I waited impatiently for the phone to boot and unlocked it, dropping it in shock as notifications nearly shut down the screen. Dozens turned into hundreds in the blink of an eye—phone calls, mostly from my study team and mother, sprinkled with worried messages and long voicemails from people I had barely spoken to in ages.

Ratchet watched curiously. “Aren’t _you_ the popular one?” he said snidely.

I elbowed him playfully and set my jaw, hurriedly swiping the notifications out of the way and dialing my mother’s number. The phone rang once, twice, three times.

A muffled click sounded from the speaker. “Hana?” My mother’s voice answered, sounding disbelieving.

“Hey, Mom,” I said painfully.

Words couldn’t explain how much I didn’t want to talk to her. Ratchet noticed my sudden discomfort and leaned down, placing a hand on my shoulder, looking confused. I closed my eyes.

“Is that really you?” Her voice was gentle. I scowled.

“In the flesh. Listen, Mom—"

Her tone suddenly changed drastically. “ _Hana Anne Fischer!_ You think you can just leave for two weeks, telling no one where you’re going or what you’re doing? The news says you were in an accident! I thought you were dead!”

I sighed. “Mom, I’m fine.”

“She’s just worried,” Ratchet whispered. “Indulge her for just a moment. She’ll appreciate it.”

I waved a hand at him dismissively. 

“You ditched your dissertation, you piece of shit!”

Ratchet’s grip suddenly tightened on my shoulder. I saw his optics grow wide.

“Alright, first of all—”

“Your graduation ceremony is in just a few weeks, you know! And you can’t go! You know why? Because you _failed!_ All my hard work, shaping you to be an engineer, down the drain! You fucked your family over, too! What an embarrassment! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Arcee’s optics were practically bugging out of her head. Ratchet’s grip was vice-like. His faceplates pushed his eyes to angry slits.

“Mom, my research was—”

“About to be completed! You were on a perfect path to get your doctorate, and now, where are you? God only knows! Shooting up heroin, I can only assume. You’re a lazy excuse for a daughter, you know that? You deserve to fail! You’re nothing to this family anymore! _Nothing!_ ”

Frustrated tears welled in my eyes, and I blinked them away irritably. “Mom—”

“Did you ever care about us? Did you ever care about your legacy, your family line? We were _all_ engineers! All you ever wanted to be was an engineer!”

I began shaking violently. Ratchet leaned down, head directly next to mine, glaring at the icon of my mother plastered on the screen. His vibrant blue optics were full of fire that blazed brighter with every syllable she spoke.

“Ever since you were little, it was all you wanted to do! You had so much talent, and for what? For _nothing!_ You’re _garbage!_ You’ve disappointed your entire family!”

“Mom, I wanted to learn, not to—”

“Tell me where you are! I’m coming for you right now and throwing you right back in that school! After all the hoops I jumped through to get you admitted, this is what you give me in return?”

“I didn’t even _want_ to go th—”

“Shut the fuck up! Fuck you! You’re fixing this, one way or another! Get home right now! I’ve been worried sick, you absolute—”

“That’s enough!” Ratchet barked. His booming voice, directly next to me, surprised me so much that my phone slipped from my hand, clattering on the floor.

My mom’s shrill voice was began shrieking. “Who the fuck is that? Was that a boy? Do you have a boyfriend? You aren’t allowed to date: it’ll distract you from your work!”

“Please, do not speak to your daughter in this way, ma’am!” Ratchet’s voice was dripping with suppressed anger.

“ _Ha!_ He sounds old as shit! Who knew my little girl would grow up to be a disgusting grave robber?”

Ratchet looked bewildered and enraged all at once. I was trembling wildly.

“Men are worthless, you know that, right?” My mother’s voice had grown low, deliberate. “Remember your father? Are you fucking old men because you miss him? The man who walked out on me, walked out on us!”

“He left because of you!” I screamed, fully aware of the melodrama of the scenario. I had finally lost my cool, acid filling my gut. “Because you pushed me too hard! Dad wanted me to—”

“Don’t speak of that wretched man!” My mother was irate. “And you—the fucker who just told me to be quiet! Let my daughter go, you coke-snorting old fuck! I’ll have you arrested for kidnapping her! I have power in this town, I will lock you the fuck up, you hear me?”

Arcee hadn’t moved an inch, staring at me with her optics frozen open. Ratchet snatched the phone from the ground, which was hilariously small in his massive hand.

“Ma’am, your daughter is with me willingly,” he said, clearly straining to retain a calm tone. “She—”

“Don’t call me ‘ma’am!’ And don’t act like you respect me, you criminal! Where are you? I will call the cops right now! Tell me your name and address!”

“Your daughter chose to stay with me, and I intend to respect her wishes,” Ratchet said, his voice colder than ice. “Goodbye.”

“Listen here, you cradle-snatching piece of—”

He hung up.

An awful silence hung over the room. The rest of the Autobots had joined us upon hearing the commotion, each staring in awe at my phone.

“You get it now?” I growled at Ratchet.

He handed the phone to me and replaced his hand on my shoulder. “Is there anyone else you could call?” he said in a low tone.

He gently wiped a stray tear from my cheek, expression still blazing but his touch tender. I glanced down at the phone, scrolling through unread messages.

“I’ll… text my team,” I said, opening the group chat and typing as fast as I could.

_Sorry for ditching you all. Met a guy. Staying with him. Congrats on passing. Don’t worry about me. Do a shot on my behalf when you graduate._

They began to respond within seconds.

_Hana? You’re okay??_

_Your mom has been calling us! You good?_

_What was the radiation spike from?_

_Jason, that is not the priority right now!_

I typed a quick response. _I’m fine. Block my mom’s number. She’ll go away eventually._

I shut the phone off and placed it in my bag with a shaking hand.

“See? All taken care of,” I said bitterly. 

“Hana,” Optimus said slowly, stepping forward. “Are you alright?”

I nodded shortly. “I’m… fine.”

Bumblebee beeped something, and Bulkhead hissed at him to be quiet. He buzzed dejectedly.

Ratchet stepped toward me. “Has she… always been like that?”

I gritted my teeth. “For as long as I can remember. Stomped on my love of science pretty early, but I didn’t have a choice other than being a prodigy.” My voice was far more vicious than I intended it to be.

Ratchet suddenly looked sad, almost fearful. “Hana, if science is not what you want to do, then—”

“It _is_ , that’s the worst part,” I said, forcing myself to look directly into Ratchet’s optics. “My mom just abused that passion is all. I hoped being in college would make it better, being away from her. _Man._ How wrong was I about _that?_ ”

I paused before continuing, inhaling sharply. “I haven’t felt passionate about science for years before coming here,” I said in a small voice. “I have you to thank for that, pumpkin head.”

“Are you certain?” The medic looked worried.

I laughed quietly. “Completely,” I said with a genuine smile. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Well, I’m honored to have rekindled your love of—”

“Not that,” I interrupted. “Well… that too. But for yelling at my mom. That was cool.”

Ratchet looked confused. “Ah. Eh… you’re welcome.”

I smiled wider.

“Speaking of science,” I said, unable to keep my gaze from wandering toward the flash drive lying alone next to Ratchet’s keyboard, “anyone tinkered with that recently?”

Every Autobot shook their heads.

“Ratchet wanted to save that honor for you,” Bulkhead said. Ratchet glared at him.

I smirked. “Is that right?”

“Pfft.” Ratchet rolled his optics. “ _Please._ ”

I climbed onto Ratchet’s hand and let him place me on his shoulder, leaping onto the keyboard. “Optimus, do you mind?” I asked, lifting the flash drive.

Optimus smiled encouragingly at me. “By all means.”

I handed the flash drive to Ratchet, whose expression warmed immediately as he plugged it in. The familiar command prompt opened.

I cracked my two remaining knuckles and sat down. “Let’s get some coordinates, then,” I said excitedly.

With Ratchet’s hand on my shoulder, a team of Autobots behind me, and a completely silent phone, I realized that for the first time in ages, I actually felt content with the way things were. I proudly loaded the hash function and looked at Ratchet, who nodded and smiled determinedly at me.

A flood of adrenaline ran through me as I began the decryption, only strengthened by the incredibly gentle lips I felt on my back as the coordinates began to rapidly unfold before my eyes. I turned to look at Ratchet, who was smiling around the obvious nervousness in his optics that nearly made me burst out laughing.

“How was that?” he asked.

“A good start, for sure,” I replied with a wide grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honest to God I wrote this chunk because I realized Hana had vanished from the face of the Earth for like a month and no one had said anything about it and I needed to make sure I didn't have to deal with writing her family into this shit. I promise the chapters after this will have actual plot progression, I just... I couldn't tolerate the plot hole anymore.
> 
> I also just really wanted someone to call Ratchet a cradle snatcher. And a crack snorting old fuck. I don't know why it's so hilarious to me.


	18. Confirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The squad finally finds out what those coordinates lead to.

“Are you completely sure that you want to do this?”

Optimus was looking at our unwavering expressions, the comforting blue glow of decrypted coordinates flashing on the screen behind us. 

Ratchet nodded before I did. “Absolutely, Optimus,” he said. “The risk of such a mission is incredibly low, and it is thanks to Hana that we managed to decrypt these coordinates in the first place.”

Optimus thought carefully for a moment before looking at me. “And you, Hana?” he inquired.

I swallowed my nerves and mimicked Ratchet’s nod. 

“We do not know what we will find at these coordinates,” Optimus continued, still looking unsure. “It may become an unfit scenario for a human to be included in.”

“I think Hana has certainly proved her worth,” Ratchet pressed. “Plus, if we let her do this, maybe she’ll stop _pestering_ me about going on recon.”

“Don’t count on it.” I winked at him, and he sighed.

After a very long pause, Optimus looked back at Ratchet. “I put my trust in you, Ratchet,” he said finally. 

Arcee looked incredulous.

“With all due respect, Optimus,” she said, “though Hana did get out of the Decepticon warship alive last time, she’s going to be a liability if she comes with us regardless of whether it’s dangerous or not! That’s just how it is!”

Ratchet and I shared a knowing glance. We’d counted on her arguing.

“Arcee,” I begged, running up to her. “Just this once! I’ll stay out of the way, and if the Decepticons show face, I swear I’ll come right back to base!”

Arcee remained unconvinced. “We have no idea what’s at these coordinates,” she said sternly. “You could be in danger even without the Decepticons there!”

Bumblebee beeped something, and I instinctively turned to Ratchet.

“Bumblebee’s right,” he said, looking at Arcee with a firm expression. “Hana’s minimal size may be of benefit, like it was last time. There is a high chance her presence will be a vital time saver.”

“I—” Arcee paused. “Alright, _fine._ ”

I bounced on my heels. “Thank you, Arcee!” I said happily as I hugged her leg. She stared down at me with a tense frown.

“You’ll come right back if the Decepticons turn up, right?” she reinforced. I nodded rapidly.

“Bumblebee will stay to man the GroundBridge,” Optimus ordered. Bumblebee buzzed, sounding disappointed, but took his position at the controls regardless.

I took my place in front of the GroundBridge, which whirled to life in its usual mass of color and light. Ratchet stepped in front of me with one foot quite pointedly, and I glanced up at him.

“Remember,” he said sternly, eyes narrowed. “No funny business. Get in and get out.”

“I know,” I said. “I promise.”

Optimus, Bulkhead, Arcee, Ratchet, and I walked through the GroundBridge and, after the nauseating blur of color, we were suddenly surrounded by thick evergreen trees. Snow was piled around us in great mounds, falling idly from the sky. The air around us was deathly silent, all sound smothered by the snow.

I checked my comm-link, which Ratchet had demanded be permanently enabled except in extreme cases. Arcee was holding a large scanner of some sort, which was beeping rhythmically.

“This way,” she said, taking point and pushing forward. I stayed behind Ratchet, Bulkhead and Optimus behind me, each occasionally glancing over their enormous shoulders.

The further we walked, the more frequent the beeping became, and Arcee suddenly stopped walking. She looked confused.

“It’s moving,” she said hesitantly. “Optimus?”

Optimus joined her at the front, guiding the scanner in a few small arcs, his face clouding with confusion.

“Perhaps it is a mobile object,” he said. “We have no choice but to pursue.”

Our trek pushed forward, and I noticed Ratchet looking down at me quite often. After a few attempts, I managed to snag his gaze.

“You alright?” I asked.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said. “It’s colder than anticipated.”

I realized he was right—though I had come equipped with a jacket and jeans I’d bought upon realizing the coordinates were in Russia, the air was bitterly cold against any bit of exposed skin I had. I realized I’d been shivering for quite some time.

“No big,” I assured him. “I’m from New York. This is spring weather.”

He looked uncertain but accepted my statement, focusing his attention on the trees around us. They loomed even taller than Optimus, dark and foreboding, but while covered in snow, they were oddly picturesque. The world was hushed by the blanket of white, and I relished the fresh, icy air as it pressed against my skin. It had been ages since I’d felt genuinely cold. I’d missed it.

Arcee’s hand swept upwards to follow the signal, and she immediately turned to me, looking concerned. “You need to go back, now,” she said sharply.

I frowned. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Arcee’s mouth opened for barely a second before the sky exploded with the sound of jet engines, and eight large figures smashed through the trees and landed in front of us, transforming in midair. Six had the blank faces of the Vehicons that had stood in the Decepticon halls, and the other two I was unfortunately accustomed to: Starscream and Megatron himself.

Bulkhead rushed forward, his arm turning into a gargantuan wrecking ball, and both Arcee and Optimus drew their guns. Ratchet stepped protectively in front of me, swords shimming in the fading sunlight.

“Well, well,” Megatron snarled. “Looks like someone thought she could decrypt those handy coordinates faster than us.”

I stayed behind Ratchet, adrenaline rushing through my veins, my heart pumping hot blood through my chilled body. 

“Bumblebee—” Ratchet started to say before four cars zipped from behind trees, surrounding the Autobots, who quickly rearranged themselves into a protective circle. Ratchet snatched me from the ground and placed me on his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the vehicles that had just transformed and raised their weapons—three silver soldiers and one smug, familiar face.

“Fancy seeing you here, Hana,” Knockout said. “I must admit, I’m surprised to see the _doctor_ along with you. Isn’t he even worse at fighting than you are?”

I heard Ratchet’s teeth grinding, but he didn’t break formation.

“Soundwave—get a GroundBridge to our coordinates,” Megatron hissed from behind me. “Starscream—take our spoils to the warship. We’ll handle the Autobots.”

“But, Master—!” Starscream whined.

“ _Now!_ ” Megatron shouted. 

Without a moment of hesitation, Optimus broke ranks, springing for Starscream, grabbing his recently transformed rudder and flinging him into a tree. Starscream shrieked in anger and changed back, something large and grey flying from his hands. Arcee ran toward it and was promptly thrown aside by a soldier.

Ratchet and Bulkhead turned to face the Vehicons, who had begun a steady dash in our direction. Bulkhead smashed his wrecking ball into one’s head, knocking it clean off and narrowly missing Knockout, who looked mildly annoyed.

“None of you idiots value a good paint job,” he growled. His optics locked on me. “It’s your fault I’m here, you know that, right? Megatron said I need to _prove myself_ again after you got loose. Even though it’s _Starscream’s_ fault for making me leave you alone in the first place.”

His expression pinched into an awful smirk. “You’ll pay for it, too,” he threatened.

Ratchet’s servo wrapped around me as Knockout lunged, his terrifying saw whirring. I felt Ratchet duck to dodge, and he grunted as he aimed a forceful slice at Knockout. Knockout hooted maniacally.

“ _You’re_ protecting her, doctor?” he laughed. “Do you think yourself some sort of _warrior_ now?”

Bulkhead lunged at Knockout, leaving behind the two Vehicons he had rendered unconscious, and Knockout received the tail end of a punch. He bristled and leered at me again.

“Optimus,” Ratchet said, voice incredibly tense, stepping back. “I’m going to need some help here!”

Knockout sprang forward and smashed a fist into Ratchet’s stomach—I saw energon spurt from his mouth as he flew backwards, snow erupting from where he collapsed. I was knocked from his shoulder, soaring through the air and landing face-first in the snow. Sputtering and gasping, trying to get air back in my lungs, I watched as Knockout pounced on top of Ratchet, saw aimed at his face. Ratchet barely avoided it and kicked his attacker in the chest, shoving him off. 

I rushed behind a tree, attempting to hide, watching in horror as Optimus was dragged aside by Megatron, the two engaging in a battle so fast that I could barely see their movements. Arcee had taken out another soldier and was soon targeted by Starscream, the two of them scrambling for the grey object that lay half-covered in snow. Starscream’s fingers barely brushed it before Arcee kicked it with all her might, and it flew toward me, smashing against the tree I was hiding behind. Mountains of heavy snow pelted me in the head, knocking me onto my stomach once again.

Ratchet pushed himself upright as Bulkhead attacked Knockout, who was evading Bulkhead’s slow attacks with only minor difficulty.

“Hana must be evacuated!” Optimus yelled over the comm-link.

“No!” Arcee’s voice was tense. “It’s—ow—it’s too risky! Someone might infiltrate the base!”

“Hana—” Ratchet’s voice was strained. “Run as fast as you can, and call Bumblebee as soon as you’re far away!”

My heart broke hearing his pain, but I listened and began to dash away, kicking snow aside in desperation. My timing was perfect, as within seconds, Starscream collided with the tree I’d been tucked behind, knocking deadly-sharp branches to the ground where I had just stood. 

“Hana!” Arcee shouted. I had no more than a second to react before I felt a giant hand grab my leg, and I was swung into the air, dangling upside down in front of Knockout. 

“Did you have fun watching me pummel your doctor?” he teased, shaking me back and forth rapidly. He pulled me closer to his face. “I intend to crush you in front of him. Do you think he’d like that?”

Without thinking, I punched Knockout as hard as I could, my Cybertronian hand connecting perfectly with his left optic.

Vibrations shot up my arm as Knockout screamed in pain, dropping me headfirst into the snow. I flopped onto my back, unharmed, momentarily grateful that the snow was so thick.

“Hana—!” Ratchet was running towards us, and Knockout blindly swung in his direction, somehow managing to catch Ratchet across the face, sending him down once again.

“You filthy, fleshy—” Knockout was beyond enraged, his faceplates twisting into a deep scowl. “Come here!”

He stepped toward me again, and I ran in rapid circles around his legs, spinning him in confused circles. His feet slammed into the ground, trying to step on me, missing narrowly each time.

“Stop it!” he barked. I ran in front of him and he caught me once again, but before his grip could tighten, I wriggled free and leapt onto his body, climbing his chest and wrapping my legs around his neck. He screeched, giving me a chance to jab a series of hard karate chops into his other eye.

“Don’t—fucking—touch—Ratchet!” I yelled, delivering a blow with every word. Knockout threw a fist wildly at his face, and I ducked, unable to contain my amusement as he punched himself in the jaw with full force. His body shuddered and tipped over, and I leapt off last second, falling into the cushiony snow. 

Starscream was laughing maniacally behind us. “What a _knockout!_ ” he hollered. 

His laughter was cut short as Arcee shot a bullet toward him, which connected with a loud _bang_. Starscream hissed and returned to his fight.

I turned toward Ratchet, who was very slowly pushing himself up. A Vehicon approached him, guns ablaze, stupidly running right into Ratchet’s outstretched arm. It turned into a sword at the very last second, impaling the Decepticon, who slid from it and onto the ground.

“Ratchet!” I cried, starting toward him.

“Hana, _no!_ ” Optimus ordered. “Heed his advice and run!”

I gritted my teeth and spun around once again, recoiling wildly as the grey object sailed through the air and landed a few yards in front of me. Arcee and Starscream were skirmishing crazily behind me, throwing handfuls of snow everywhere as they scratched and punched each other, the item forgotten.

A plan formed in my mind, and I set my jaw and ran as fast as I could toward the bizarre object. It was as large as one of my legs—long and slender, tarnished and dented, but incredibly streamlined in appearance.

I ducked down and lifted it with both of my arms, straining against the weight but somehow managing to settle it in front of my chest. I bolted forward, ignoring Starscream’s angry shrieks but pleased to hear them cut short as Arcee hit him once again.

“Bumblebee!” I yelled as I ran. The sound of heavy footsteps was gaining on me. “Now, now, now!”

A GroundBridge split the air in front of me, and I hurtled toward it. I heard the footsteps of Vehicons behind me—I was out of time.

“Close it!” I screamed. Bumblebee beeped, sounding confused. 

“ _Just do it!_ ”

I lifted the object over my head and pitched it as hard as I could, watching it vanish through the GroundBridge, which sealed itself shut mere milliseconds later. A flurry of Decepticon bullets flew toward me, and I did a clumsy somersault to dodge before desperately running behind a tree.

“Optimus, the object is with Bumblebee!” I said into the comm-link, breathing hard.

“Good work, Hana!” Optimus sounded incredibly pleased as Megatron’s angry yell filled my ears.

“Get the human!” Megatron shouted. “ _Get her!_ ”

I was thrown upwards once again, this time by Bulkhead, who turned into a truck below me and tilted his body sideways. I clattered into the passenger’s seat and within seconds, the door shut, and Bulkhead floored it into the forest.

“Thanks, Bulk,” I gasped, grabbing a stitch in my side. 

“Don’t mention it.”

“Bulkhead, R—”

“We’ll get him, don’t worry.”

I smiled. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

Bulkhead eluded a few bullets, surprisingly nimble despite his hulking size. “We knew before you did, kid.”

Megatron suddenly appeared in the windshield, his hand slamming down on Bulkhead’s hood. Arcee leapt toward him and was easily smacked aside.

“Give her to me,” Megatron snarled as Bulkhead revved his engine desperately, “and I’ll let you all go safely.”

“Like I’d ever believe that!” Bulkhead transformed once again, his chassis shifting around me, keeping me safely encased in his chest. 

I grasped against anything I could as Bulkhead ran toward Megatron, who aimed his gun at Bulkhead’s chest. I winced and covered my face, surprised to see Ratchet appear out of nowhere, throwing his entire body against Megatron’s arm. The bullet went flying off-course, connecting with a tree somewhere to Bulkhead’s left. I heard a few ominous cracks before Bulkhead jumped backwards, the tree falling in front of us. Snow billowed into the air, turning the entire landscape white for a moment.

Megatron turned to Ratchet, wearing an amused expression. “The medic, hm?” he snarled. “I can’t say I was expecting you. It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?”

Ratchet was clearly breathing hard, eyes narrowed.

“Don’t… touch… her,” he panted. 

“You?” Megatron laughed. “ _You_ , protective of a human? How intriguing.”

Ratchet said nothing, clutching at an energon leak that was springing from his arm, staining the snow blue. 

“I will say, she was certainly useful,” Megatron mocked loudly. “And _very_ easy to break. I wonder if you replaced her other arm as well, after I snapped it into pieces?”

I held my breath. Ratchet still hadn’t moved. The ground shook more and more as heavy footsteps dashed toward us.

“She worked very hard under my supervision,” Megatron continued, walking toward Ratchet, cocking his gun. “Almost as efficient as Soundwave in her rudimentary human technology. She was practically a Decepticon when she worked alongside me. Did she tell you?”

Megatron’s crimson optics narrowed. “She called me her Master,” he hissed. “Her _liege_. Wouldn’t you say that makes her a Decepticon? Even just a little?”

Ratchet’s optics flared, and he lunged.

“Ratchet, no!” I screamed, pounding against Bulkhead’s insides.

Megatron reached out and grabbed Ratchet’s outstretched hand, twisting it hard, the sound of grinding metal ringing through the air. I covered my ears, relief flooding through me as Optimus appeared, shooting a barrage of bullets at Megatron, landing a few on his arm, which released as it recoiled. Ratchet fell over, groaning, energon spewing everywhere.

Optimus advanced on Megatron.

“The object is in our possession,” Optimus said angrily. “This fight is over.”

Megatron pondered for a moment, glaring at Optimus, who had both guns pointed directly at his chest. Both shifted their gazes toward Bulkhead, who placed a hand over me, partially obscuring my view. I had to stand on my tiptoes to see the situation unfold, chewing my nails as I watched Ratchet tremble in the snow.

Megatron growled and folded into a plane, which rocketed into the distance in seconds. Starscream’s figure soon followed, as did the remaining Decepticon soldiers. Knockout, who had clumsily joined Starscream in trying to take down Arcee, drove after them, tires spraying snow everywhere.

Bulkhead’s chest opened, and he gently placed me on the ground. I ran toward Ratchet, who was scowling magnificently.

“Ratchet!” I said, grasping his head and wiping energon from his face with my sleeve. “Are you okay?”

He turned his head and spat out a mouthful of energon. His expression was a strange blend of pride and pain.

“You… did amazing, Hana,” he gasped.

Optimus walked over and helped Ratchet to his feet, taking a moment to flash me a rare smile.

A GroundBridge appeared a few yards away, and we made our way towards it, Bulkhead and Optimus aiding Ratchet. Arcee stayed close to me.

“You shouldn’t have been here,” she said, looking down at me.

I nervously twiddled my thumbs. “Yeah, I know.”

“But… thanks,” she continued. “And good job.”

I grinned.

We entered the base, where Ratchet immediately staggered to the medical bay, hooking himself up to a hose that flushed his body with energon and setting to work repairing his arm. Bulkhead offered to help and was waved away by an irritable hand. I giggled slightly as Bulkhead turned away, looking miffed.

Bumblebee was handing the object to Optimus, who observed it closely.

“What is it?” Arcee asked curiously.

“Looks like part of a sword,” I piped up.

“Once again, Hana shows us her remarkable ingenuity,” Optimus said. Bulkhead patted my head proudly.

“This,” Optimus continued, “is a sign that there have been other Autobots on this planet.”

Bumblebee beeped, looking lost.

Ratchet had joined the circle, popping the tube from his arm and pressing a large, flat piece of metal against his wound. His optics widened when he saw the object, his jaw going slack.

“Optimus,” he whispered, “is that… Drift’s?”

“It appears to be,” Optimus said, turning toward me as the other Autobots gasped. “Drift was a once-ruthless Decepticon who changed sides, becoming an Autobot during the war. This appears to be the hilt of his Great Sword.”

“What’s it doing on Earth?” Arcee asked, sounding puzzled. “He would have responded to your call for aid, way back when we got here, right?”

“This is merely the hilt,” Optimus said, lifting the object into the light. It glimmered dimly, tarnished and worn. “Therefore, I have reason to believe he was within range, and was somehow removed by force… and is now unarmed.”

“Did you say _Great Sword?_ ” I asked. “Why the title?”

“Great Swords bind with the spark of the Cybertronian who wields them,” Optimus said, lowering the hilt. “There is a nexus mounted on this hilt that siphons energy from the owner's spark, which then energizes the blade. It is his and his alone.”

“Optimus,” Ratchet said. “Does that mean… Drift is dead?”

He looked incredibly distraught.

“I would consider the possibility had we not found coordinates leading toward it,” Optimus said. “I believe Drift wanted this weapon to fall into the hands of other Autobots, and thus left behind its location. It would not be found by anyone other than a Cybertronian.”

“Why would he use human technology?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

“Drift was once a Decepticon,” Ratchet said, understanding dawning on his face. “He knew they would likely ignore something that appeared to belong to the natives. If it was purely Cybertronian, it would fall in Decepticon hands too easily.”

“Does that mean we have another ally somewhere?” Bulkhead said excitedly.

“It is likely,” Optimus said simply. “We must find means of locating him at once. He will be quite an asset to the team.”

“Just like Hana here! She took Knockout down all on her own!” Bulkhead said proudly, patting me on the back a bit too hard and sending me flying forward. “Oops. Sorry.”

“It is without a doubt that Hana has proved herself more than worthy of staying amongst us,” Optimus agreed. I smiled widely.

“She might need a _bit_ more training if she wants to be anything _close_ to battle ready,” Arcee said, a hard edge on her voice.

“We welcome warriors in the laboratory as much as those on the battlefield,” Optimus said to me. “However, Hana, you may choose to join in on training sessions if you like.”

“Really?” My eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“Thorough training will allow you to be a more diverse member of the team, if you’re so inclined.”

Bumblebee beeped something, looking mischievous, and Bulkhead sniggered. Ratchet scoffed loudly and turned toward the medical bay.

“Anyone who was injured, come here and I’ll tend to you,” he grumbled. I followed him, as did Arcee and Optimus.

“Ratchet,” I said excitedly. “Would you mind explaining what you’re doing while helping them?”

Ratchet’s face melted from hard annoyance to unreadable in seconds. “Absolutely,” he said. “It would be helpful for someone else to know _basic first aid_ around here.” He was glaring at Arcee.

She rolled her optics. “Why would we bother when you don’t let _anyone else_ do it in the first place?”

“ _Please._ ”

Arcee sat down as the medic scanned her.

“Now, Hana, see this right here?” He showed me his arm, which displayed a dizzying amount of information. “This shows energon levels, this shows energy efficiency, and this is a scan of her body. Can you see that dent, right there?”

I blinked a few times. “Uh… sure.”

Ratchet inhaled and exhaled deeply, gathering his patience, and zoomed in closer. “That—” he gestured, “—is not supposed to be bent like that. It’s a minor fix, however: a common battlefield injury. Come now. Watch me do it, and you can try assisting on Optimus.”

“Looks simple enough.”

Ratchet began to prod at Arcee’s abdomen. I smiled at him. He narrowed his optics.

“Yes?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

He turned to grab some tools, and I felt Arcee’s optics against me. I met her gaze.

“Yes?”

She bit her lip and snickered. “Nothing,” she said.

“Why’d you laugh, then?”

She shrugged. “You’re starting to sound like him.”

“ _Please._ ”

Her smile only grew wider.


	19. Restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fluffiest shit you'll see for a long while.

I couldn’t sleep that night.

Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, or maybe it was the amount of information that had been packed into my brain about Cybertronian bodies. Maybe it was my persistent wondering about what Drift was like, or who he even was. Maybe it was something else.

All I knew was that no matter how long I kept my eyes closed, I still couldn’t sleep.

I had been with the Autobots for just over a month now, and the excitement had never slowed. Usually, sheer exhaustion knocked me out within moments, but today I found myself staring at the ceiling a hundred feet away, endless thoughts scrolling through my head, indiscernible from one another. Ratchet’s face passed through my mind, followed by the satisfying feeling of my fist against Knockout’s optic, then the words of my mother, then the strange way my arms glowed slightly at nighttime, then the reminder that I should have been asleep ages ago.

I glanced at my watch, buckled tight around my left arm. It was already two in the morning.

I sat upright and rubbed my forehead, fruitlessly trying to massage my running thoughts to calm them down a little bit. They ensued. I didn’t even know what I was thinking _about_ anymore—I was merely thinking.

I stood upright, did a few jumping jacks, trying to tire myself out. Nothing helped.

I lay back down, arms outstretched, the makeshift blanket Ratchet had given me so many weeks ago under my back, my only companion. It had the faint electrical aroma of energon, and I wondered if it had once been some sort of bandage.

I smiled. Ratchet was thoughtful, even if his attempts were misplaced at times.

I glanced to the side, gazing at the empty room, unable to ignore the odd tug at my stomach when I remembered how alone I was in this gaping room. It was usually so full, whether bustling with the other Autobots or occupied merely by Ratchet, standing at one of his computers, optics narrowed in focus, the world around him tuned out. I liked watching him work. It was enjoyable, admirable, watching someone be so fully engrossed. 

I stood up again and walked toward Ratchet’s main computer, absently pressing at the keyboard. The Autobots were all in shutdown, not only exhausted after the sudden battle, but also under Ratchet’s strict orders that they all recharge for a full eight hours before returning to their duties. It was easy to forget that they were the front-liners in a centuries-old war, and that they constantly had to be at the top of their game.

Bored and restless, I jumped down and began to pace around the cavernous room, remembering how I had once been so off-put by its size. Now I couldn’t stop thinking about an alien robot who was four times my height, and I had no reservations about it.

I chuckled to myself. Oh, how times change.

I began to wander the quiet hallways, walking aimlessly through the energon refinery, the storage areas, the training room, the armory, the vaults filled with Cybertronian artifacts I couldn’t begin to understand. I walked past the recharging stations, listening to the gentle hum of massive generators and the soft breathing of each Autobot. Arcee was practically silent, Bumblebee beeped to himself in his sleep, Bulkhead emitted a sound that could only be described as a robotic snore, Optimus breathed heavily and deeply, and Ratchet inhaled very slowly but exhaled very quickly.

I paused outside his door, listening to him sleep. It was strange to hear him resting, the grumpy voice silent, replaced only by the sound of his vents. He was like an old man, always in a sour mood but with soft spots in his core for those he cared about.

I thought of how he’d attacked Megatron after the clever plucking at his nerves. Megatron was nothing if not talented with his words, figuring out in seconds how to make Ratchet snap. I was sure Ratchet would have been severely injured if Optimus hadn’t showed to fend Megatron off when he did.

A shard of guilt stabbed me in the stomach, and I took a deep breath to ease the pain. The Autobots had once again risked their lives for me, a weird little human who had no place amongst titans, only here by mere chance. I wondered how things would have been different if I’d let someone else investigate the energon mine. 

Thoughts intruded my mind, knifing at my brain— _I would have never ended up here._ I would have continued living my miserable life, eternally bullied by my mother, probably becoming some high-ranking manager and dreading work every single morning. The Decepticons might have gotten the hash function before I did, and the Autobots would never know that guy named Drift was still alive somewhere. I might not have ever had my life risked, never had my arms replaced, and certainly never have met Ratchet.

These thoughts calmed me more than I expected. Maybe I was supposed to be here, for some reason. 

I gazed up at Ratchet’s door once again. 

Maybe I was supposed to be _here_ , too.

Gathering my bravery, I jumped to push the button on the wall, watching as the door slid open with surprising softness considering its size. 

The room had a faint blue glow about it emanating from a large bed in the center—if it could even be called a bed. It looked more like a giant metal box, large pipes carrying energon in and out with a faint hum, a single thick wire as big as my arm snaking into it. I could see Ratchet laying inside on his back, chest rising and falling with each loud breath.

I tiptoed toward him and peered into his bed. His body was glowing faintly, fresh energon flowing through him, a large plug inserted into his uninjured arm. The wounded arm looked as good as new, and I marveled for a moment at his medical skills. He wore his usual gruff expression, eyebrows twitching occasionally, and I could see the bright blue of his optics shining even through the closed lids. Biolights flickered silently across his chassis, up and down his arms, under the glass on his chest. His position was quite stiff, arms to either side, the left hand resting gently on his thigh, legs straight and close together.

I covered my mouth to smother a giggle—even when asleep, he was as stoic as ever. 

I placed my chin on my hands and watched him for a while, admiring the glow of clean energon surging through his system, trying to place the body parts I had recently learned about. His transformation cog must be somewhere over there, and there was a large cluster of pistons somewhere in there, and the vents up there.

I found myself pointing to certain organs, whispering their names in Cybertronian and English alike. My Cybertronian was still incredibly clumsy, but I knew a decent amount of words and a few important phrases despite my inability to vocalize them. Ratchet stirred slightly for a second, muttering something Cybertronian in his sleep.

I frowned, wondering what the words meant, tasting them with my own tongue. “Tulm vekj ji… conjunx… end… endura?”

A faint smile passed over Ratchet’s face for no more than a second, quickly replaced by the standard glower.

I knew “tulm” and “ji.” They meant “you” and “my.” The other words had made no sense. “Vekj” sounded almost like a modifier, or maybe an indicator. I frowned. What did “conjunx” mean? It sounded almost English, the roots somewhat Latin in flavor.

I let my thoughts trail off and continued watching Ratchet, unbothered by the long minutes ticking by, satisfied to notice that my brain had calmed down significantly. All I could think about was him and the calming blue haze surrounding his recharging body.

I smiled and reached toward him slowly. It never ceased to amaze me just how large he was, and he wasn’t even the biggest Cybertronian I’d seen. Up close like this, it was impossible not to notice his sheer size, the intricacy of his body, the way plates and wires and pistons shifted seamlessly over one another every time he moved. 

“Incredible,” I whispered, placing a small hand against one of his arms.

He stirred, optics opening just slightly, brighter blue than I’d ever seen them, flooded with energon. His weary gaze shifted left and right, eventually landing on me. Confusion clouded his faceplates.

“Hana?” he muttered. “What…?”

“Sorry,” I whispered quickly, withdrawing my hand. “I’ll go now.”

“Hm?”

“I couldn’t sleep, I’m sorry.” I turned to leave, blushing furiously, and was surprised to hear him shifting next to me. I looked over my shoulder and saw a servo approaching, wrapping around me carefully and lifting me up.

“Ratchet, I said I’m sorry,” I said, struggling, not wanting to ruin my good mood by being yelled at. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Hush,” he murmured, placing me face first on his chest. “I’m recharging.”

His hand remained on top of me, keeping me in place. I looked up at his face, which directed toward the ceiling, warped unusually with that unreadable expression, bolder than ever.

“You should be able to feel it,” he whispered. “Listen closely.”

“Wh—” 

“Just listen.”

I obliged, pressing my ear against his chest. A very faint pulsing sound was buried deep within him, measured and steady, filling my mind. 

“What is that, your heart?” I asked.

“My spark,” he replied quietly. “I don’t believe I explained that in our lesson earlier.”

“Your what?”

“Similar to a human heart, in a manner of speaking. Sparks are a part of all Cybertronians, the part of us that keeps us alive, protected by our bodies.”

I listened intently to the faint beating, muffled by thick barricades of living metal. 

“Wow,” I whispered. “That’s you in there?”

Ratchet didn’t respond, and I looked at him. His gaze was fixed on me now. That damn _expression_ was back. What did it mean?

“You never fail to be fascinated by me,” he noted softly.

I felt my face grow red. The corners of his mouth lifted.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I mumbled, turning my face back toward his chest, aching to hear his spark some more.

Ratchet’s fingers tightened around me and he pulled me toward his head, wordlessly kissing me on the mouth. I blinked, expecting it to be brief like our previous kisses, pleasantly surprised when it endured for far longer.

Hesitantly, I placed my hands on his faceplates, closing my eyes, embarrassed to feel my grip tighten against him. He was warmer than usual, pumped full of energon and electricity that practically crackled at my touch. I felt my own Cybertronian parts shimmering.

After a few long seconds, Ratchet lifted me up a few inches, just enough that I could meet his eyes.

“I think that might be why,” he said.

I didn’t know how to react to this softness other than with sarcasm.

“You’re starting to finally figure out kissing, then,” I said with a smile.

Ratchet frowned. “Am I?”

He pulled me in again. My head spun.

After a while he placed me back on his chest, one hand resting over me like a giant blanket. Dizzy, I lay my head against him, listening to the comforting sound of his spark throbbing deep within his chassis.

I began to drift off quite quickly, rearranging myself into a more comfortable position, urging Ratchet’s fingers under my head so I could hold onto one. He drowsily obliged.

“Ratchet?”

“Hm?” 

“What’s a… uh… ‘conjunx endura?’”

Ratchet shifted underneath me, and I looked up to see him staring intently at me, looking confused.

“Where did you hear that?” he asked, as sharp as a sleepy voice could be.

“I—read it somewhere,” I lied.

He peered at me.

“I swear!”

The medic put his head back down slowly, his thumb tightening around me. “I’m sure you’ll find out someday,” he murmured.

Confused but fully aware of the way Ratchet dodged questions, I put my head back down.

“Is it okay if I sleep here?” I whispered.

Ratchet chuckled slightly, and I heard his spark thump. 

“By all means,” he murmured gently.

His breathing was like a cradle, steadily raising my whole body up and down, long inhales paired with brief exhales strong enough to rustle my hair. With all thoughts silenced by the beating of Ratchet’s spark, I was easily lulled into sleep. 

~

“Where is he?” Arcee said, confused at seeing all Autobots accounted for except Ratchet.

Bumblebee shrugged. _Still in shutdown, I guess,_ he said.

“He’s always up before the rest of us!” Arcee said with a frown. “ _Bulkhead’s_ awake and Ratchet isn’t?”

“Hey!” Bulkhead said indignantly.

_Go wake him up if you want_ , Bumblebee said with a smirk. _I was going to, but I think he needs to a little more rest._

“Yeah, right,” Arcee grumbled, heading back toward the recharging stations. “That old bot sleeps less than anyone I know.” 

Bumblebee giggled.

She reached his station and pressed the button on the door, waiting impatiently for it to open before storming inside.

“Ratchet—come on!” she snapped, pacing toward him. He was still lying down; was he so badly injured that he needed _this_ much time to recharge? She’d seen him in worse shape with _half_ this amount of rest.

She walked toward him, surprised to see him wide awake, looking irritated, a single finger on his lips. He pointed toward his chest where his other hand was, gently lifting a finger to reveal Hana, snoozing peacefully with her head resting precisely where his spark was.

Arcee glanced back at Ratchet, who was smiling softly at Hana’s sleeping form, finger still in front of his mouth. She tiptoed from the room, shutting the door behind her.

Bulkhead looked anxious. “Is he okay?” he asked nervously.

Arcee looked at Bumblebee, who was looking quite smug.

“He’s fine,” she said with a grin. “Probably just tired. He hasn’t fought in a while.”

Bulkhead looked at Arcee. “If you say so,” he grumbled.

Optimus’s eyes shifted toward Hana’s berth, which lay empty. “Where is Hana?” he asked.

Arcee shot Bulkhead a pointed look. He looked bewildered for a moment before understanding emerged on his face.

“Oh,” he said sheepishly.

_Hana probably just slept somewhere else_ , Bumblebee said to Optimus. _Change of scenery, maybe._

“When Hana and Ratchet have both returned, we will begin to search for Drift,” Optimus said. “In the meantime, the four of us should undergo some training exercises. The Decepticons displayed some interesting techniques that I would like to review with all of you.” 

They followed Optimus to the training room, taking the short route past the recharging stations. Arcee glanced at Ratchet’s door and grinned at Bulkhead.

“I would have expected someone more… Cybertronian,” Bulkhead said quietly to Arcee, making sure Optimus couldn’t hear.

Arcee thought of Hana’s repaired body parts, eternally stained with energon, strong enough to punch Knockout directly in the optics.

“Close enough.”


	20. Training and Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana is the Queen of Bad Decisions.
> 
> Seriously. Hana. Chill.

“Hana, come on!”

I yelped and skidded to my left, heading straight into Bulkhead’s wrecking ball, which came to a dramatic halt inches from my face. I jumped backwards far too late, causing him to laugh and shake his head.

“We’ve been over this,” he said, changing his arm back to normal. “If I’m pulling up and back with _my_ right hand—”

“I need to dodge to _my_ right and forward, yeah, I know,” I sighed, gliding forward. “I’m not used to these yet, that’s why I’m not doing well!”

I glanced at my new inline skates, watching the wheels retract almost shamefully. 

“You can’t let new technology get in the way of what you’ve learned,” Bulkhead said for the hundredth time. “You _know_ these techniques! Ratchet made those for you to improve your skills, not to make you worse!”

It was true—Ratchet had spent a long time fashioning me a pair of roller blades from living metal, rudimentary transformation cogs allowing them to turn into normal, yet extremely heavy, shoes. I wasn’t yet used to the weight on my feet, or the newfound speed boosts that made it damn near impossible to react the way I’d been trained for four months now.

“One more, Bulk,” I said, assuming a battle stance and popping the wheels out of my skates. 

“You sure? We’ve been at it for a while…”

“Think fast!” I lunged forward, activating the rockets on my skates and shooting toward Bulkhead’s face. He lifted an arm to block me, and I quickly cut to the side and grabbed the outstretched limb, flipping onto his neck and aiming a hand for one of his eyes. He smiled broadly.

“That was good!” he said excitedly. “You anticipated me moving my other arm to knock you off and got out of the way!”

I stared at him blankly. “Uh… yeah.”

“You didn’t?” He looked puzzled.

I shrugged and jumped from his head, softening my landing with a quick burst from the skates’ boosters. “Not even at all,” I admitted. “But it worked out, didn’t it?”

“You need to focus on anticipating movements,” Bulkhead warned me, looking exasperated. “That’s your biggest weakness. You don’t look at your enemy—you just move. If a Decepticon sees that, they’ll be able to counter easily.”

“I know,” I grumbled, crossing my arms and skating to the other end of the massive training arena. “I’m working on it.”

“You’ll get it,” Bulkhead said encouragingly. “Let’s take a break.”

“One more!” I said, leaning down and tensing my muscles.

“You said that eight times ago,” he said. I frowned. “Break time.”

“ _Fine._ ” I stood upright and walked toward Bulkhead, bumping fists with him as we exited the stadium, as was tradition.

“Was I at least decent today?” I asked, my skates making it easy to keep pace with him as we returned to the main room.

“Not too bad,” he said. “Just focus less on yourself and more on what I do, and the ways I attack. Expectation is a classic Wrecker technique.”

“Sounds like normal fighting, but okay,” I laughed. He shrugged but chuckled as well.

We entered the main room, where Ratchet was busily digging around in the floor at some circuit boards, muttering to himself. I shot toward him, leaping on his head and crossing my legs as daintily as I could with ten-pound weights on my feet. Ratchet huffed.

“Just because you’re training with a Wrecker doesn’t mean you get to act like one,” he grumbled. 

“What’s the matter?” I teased. “Can’t handle me being stronger than you?”

Ratchet smacked me off his head easily, sending me into a series of mid-air somersaults before I clumsily landed on my feet.

“You were saying?” He smirked broadly.

I folded my arms and walked back toward him, plastering a fake pout on my face. He looked at me, a brief grin flashing over his face before he ducked back into the ground.

“Something wrong?” I asked, gesturing toward the gaping hole in the floor.

“The GroundBridge has been acting up recently,” he said, yanking a panel from the ground and examining it closely. “Ah, yes, that would do it. Do you mind fixing this while I rewire down here?”

I took the circuit board from his hands and wordlessly headed toward the lab, which Ratchet had recently outfitted with a soldering iron that fit in my hand as opposed to his, which was as big as my leg. Flipping the switch, I grabbed the iron and began to refit a couple of diodes, piling molten metal onto them to secure them in place.

“How was training?” Ratchet asked idly.

I shrugged, ignoring the fact that he couldn’t see me. “These skates are great and all, but they’re throwing me off my game. I only got the upper hand on Bulkhead three times today!”

“You’re not injured, are you?”

I touched my healing black eye and smiled. “Not this time, no,” I said. “I told you—that was an _accident_. And it was Arcee, not Bulkhead. She doesn’t hold back.”

“I’ve noticed,” Ratchet said darkly. He had been supportive of my decision to begin training for combat, but his protective streak had never ceased, and Arcee had gotten quite a tongue-lashing after punching me in the face, nearly breaking my nose and giving me a quite a shiner. 

“Don’t worry, Ratchet, I’m improving!” I said defensively. “I get hit way less now!”

“Have you started training long range attacks with those skates yet?” he asked.

I paused. “Not yet,” I said. “But Bulkhead says it’ll only be a few more weeks.”

“Good.”

I knew he was nervous about letting me to into the field, which kept me motivated to work as hard as I possibly could. Pinpointing Drift’s location had met a dead end a few months ago, and Ratchet hadn’t taken it well, but I was determined. I wanted to find Drift, whoever he was, no matter how many punches to the face it cost.

“How are your hands?” Ratchet asked.

I glanced at my Cybertronian parts. The bluish bruises had never quite faded, and the metal had lost its brilliance some time ago, but they still handled as though freshly built. I had once bent a finger almost completely backwards trying to attack Bulkhead, and Ratchet had berated me the entire time he fixed it.

“You need to be more careful!” he’d said, a saying that had quickly become something of a new catchphrase for him. I’d apologized as much as I could with my flattened finger radiating agony through my entire arm and sending tears to my eyes. Living metal was amazing, every inch of it working the same as my old hands, but it came with the unfortunate side effect of still feeling pain. 

I finished my soldering and returned the board to Ratchet, who took it from my hand and placed it back in its slot. I climbed onto his shoulder as he returned to the GroundBridge controls, reconfiguring a few things and calmly waiting as the new settings loaded.

Ratchet’s arm suddenly shook violently, nearly knocking me off once again. I quickly steadied myself, glaring at him. “What the hell?” I asked.

He turned his head to grin at me. “Your balance has certainly improved.”

I patted my newly acquired abs and smirked. “All in the core,” I said.

Ratchet reached up and placed me in his hand, carefully poking my muscles with a long orange finger. He’d been fascinated with the way my body had firmed up in the past months, hours of daily training slowly converting my body from something skinny as a rod to something with actual muscle mass.

“Human bodies are incredible,” he muttered, prodding me hard in the gut. I grabbed his finger as the air rushed from my lungs.

“Still not made of metal,” I wheezed. He grinned and placed me back on his shoulder, where I stretched and flopped down, arms above my head, suddenly realizing how tired I was.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just beat,” I said, yawning. “Training is hard work.”

“Even more so in a body made of flesh,” Ratchet said. I glared at him.

“I could kick your ass.”

“Don’t make me swat you to the floor again.”

I hugged his head playfully, squeezing his nose. “Ratchet, no!” I cried jokingly. “Don’t do it! Please! Spare me!”

A rare chuckle emitted from Ratchet as he brushed my hands from his face. 

“Don’t we have studying to do?” he asked knowingly.

I groaned loudly. “Can it wait?” I pleaded. 

“No, simply because I don’t have anything to do either,” Ratchet said. “Come, now. Three words a day, like you said.”

“Five more minutes?”

“No.” Ratchet walked to his computer and typed a few things. “What does that say?”

I stared intensely at the characters. “Ka… kamoonjik?”

“Close,” Ratchet said. “ _Ga_ moonjik. Remember, the dot there makes this a ‘g’ sound.”

“Gamoonjik,” I repeated. “Gamoonjik, gamoonjik. What’s that mean?”

“It means ‘lazy,’” Ratchet said, sounding pleased with himself.

“That’s just rude.”

He smirked and typed another word. “You know this one already. Or, at least, you should.”

I peered, trying to wrack my brains. “Faldsiyn?”

“Good! Which means what?”

I was about to answer when Arcee’s icon appeared on Ratchet’s screen in a crackle of static. “Ratchet, we need a GroundBridge,” she said, sounding concerned.

“Is everything alright?” Ratchet asked.

“In about ten seconds, it won’t be,” she said. “Hurry.”

Ratchet rushed to the GroundBridge, locking on her coordinates and bringing it to life. It sputtered and crackled a few times before opening; Ratchet huffed in annoyance. Within seconds, Arcee and Bumblebee rushed through, looking grim.

“What happened?” Ratchet asked tightly.

Bumblebee beeped something. Ratchet scowled.

“What were Decepticons doing at a museum?” he asked.

“Maybe they’re tracking Drift just like we are,” Arcee said. “No idea. They keep showing up where we are, no matter where we go.”

“They must know we’re looking for _something_ ,” I said. “Hopefully they don’t know what it is.”

“ _Hopefully_ ,” Ratchet repeated with a glare. “Our search patterns have been increasingly more erratic, so they probably think we’re desperate, regardless of whether they know our target or not.”

“I mean… we _are_ desperate,” Arcee said. “We have no clue where Drift is, do we?”

“He has to be somewhere,” Ratchet said firmly, his voice growing tense as it normally did when Drift was mentioned. 

“Do you think he left the planet?” I asked.

“A possibility we cannot ignore,” Ratchet said. “But we can’t just stop looking for him on Earth. It’s just as likely that he’s hiding somewhere on this planet as any other.”

“That makes him a fantastic hider,” Arcee muttered. “Who knows how long he’s been around? He might’ve been here for years. Or _left_ years ago.”

“Drift is smart,” Ratchet said firmly. “He’d find a way to protect himself.”

We all knew to keep our doubts to ourselves regarding Drift, and I quickly changed the subject to avoid the inevitable argument. 

“Ratchet,” I said, tapping him on the head a few times. “Let’s get back to the lesson.”

He huffed sharply and turned back to his computer, allowing Arcee and Bumblebee to quietly slip from the room. Once they had vanished, I looked down at Ratchet, whose expression was cross.

“You still haven’t explained what the deal is with you and Drift,” I said, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

Ratchet huffed. “He was an old comrade,” he said. “We went through a lot together, back on Cybertron.”

“Like what?”

“What’s this character mean?”

“Don’t dodge my question.”

“See, I would _think_ that by ‘dodging the question,’ it would become abundantly clear that I don’t want to discuss the matter, considering there is an infinitesimal possibility that someone I care deeply about is dead,” Ratchet said sharply. “Tell me this character.”

I pondered whether to keep pushing him and decided against it. “That means ‘old.’ We went over that yesterday.”

“Just checking your memory.”

We carried on the lesson for some time, Ratchet finally calming down after a few long minutes and loosening up. After I had successfully memorized my daily characters, I began excitedly tapping Ratchet on the shoulder as fast as I could. He sighed.

“Hana, you don’t need to go out,” he said.

“What am I, your dog?” I scoffed. “Come on, just a quick drive! I’ve been in the mood for a panini!”

“Didn’t we just go out yesterday?”

“But there’s something back at my college that I’ve been dying for,” I whined. “ _Please?_ ”

“You want to go back to your school?” Ratchet asked. “I thought you hated it there.”

“I do, but the sandwiches on Main Street are awesome!”

“It’s not safe.”

“ _Pretty please?_ ”

“Are you going to keep pestering me if I _don’t_ say yes?”

“Probably.”

Ratchet sighed and shook his head in defeat. “Fine.”

“Yay!” I hugged him, and despite his usual grunt of annoyance, I felt him smiling.

I leaped from his head, grabbing my jacket and gloves and slipping them over my Cybertronian parts. It was probably cold in New York, as normal for late fall, and I prayed I wouldn’t end up looking out of place donning full upper body cover.

Ratchet activated the GroundBridge and converted to his vehicle mode, revving his engines loudly until I hopped into the passenger’s seat. 

“Optimus,” I said into my comm-link, “Ratchet and I are going out for a little bit. We’ll be back.”

“Thank you for letting me know,” Optimus replied. I heard loud winds in the background and wondered for a moment where he had gone. 

“He’s emptying an old energon deposit,” Ratchet said, practically reading my mind.

“It’s weird when you know what I’m thinking like that,” I said as Ratchet drove forward.

“You’re predictable.”

“Hush, you.”

The colors of the GroundBridge twirled around us for a second before we were surrounded by familiar scenery: an old park a few miles from downtown. Autumn trees danced above us, vibrantly colored maple leaves falling onto Ratchet’s hood and lazily drifting to the ground. I leaned toward the window excitedly, pressing my gloved hands against the glass.

“I haven’t been here in ages,” I breathed. Ratchet chuckled.

“Glad to be back?” he inquired.

“Not as glad as I am to be here with you,” I said brightly. I could almost feel Ratchet roll his optics.

“Directions would be nice,” he said as he steered forward.

“Oh, yeah—take a left up here, then go straight for a while.”

We bumped off the grass and onto some pavement, and Ratchet pulled left and began to drive exactly the speed limit down the road.

“You’re an ambulance! You can speed!” I remarked.

“I’m not Bumblebee,” he muttered. I laughed and put my feet on the dashboard, watching the place I’d once called home whiz by. I could see stars glimmering faintly in the sky, polluted with light from nearby cities, dull but still present.

“Stargazing was always hard here,” I said aloud.

“Come again?”

“Too many cities. You can’t see the stars.”

“Someday I’ll take you to Cybertron and you can do some _real_ stargazing.”

I smiled. 

The sun was sinking toward the horizon, not quite setting but still quite low, reminding me of the solitary drives I would take late at night so many months ago to clear my cluttered mind. 

It suddenly hit me that I’d left an entire life behind me here—a miserable life, at that, but something I had once accepted as mine. As we approached Main Street, I saw McGregor’s, my favorite old bar, and thought about the midnight trips my team and I would take there, the bartender who’d always flirted with me, the beautiful feeling of alcohol sliding down my throat and smothering my frustrations.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet,” Ratchet noted, turning onto Main Street.

I stared at the neon lights outside my window, the dumpy store fronts, the drunk students stumbling out of one bar and into another. _It must be a Friday_ , I thought.

“Just thinking about how things used to be,” I said plainly.

“You and me both.”

I attempted to craft a response and failed, falling silent instead.

Ratchet soon pulled into an empty parking space, and I looked up in wonder at the crappy little store I loved so much, Sally’s Sandwich Shop. The neon sign screamed “OPEN” at us, blinking occasionally as it strained to stay alight on faulty wiring. The hinges on the door were as rusty as ever, the windows dirtied in a strangely charming way.

“ _This_ is it?” Ratchet said, amusement in his voice.

I smacked him. “It’s _good_ ,” I argued.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said snidely.

I opened his door and hopped out, patting him a few times. “I’ll be right back,” I assured him. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“I know the drill.”

I let my finger drag across his door as I strolled toward Sally’s, inhaling deeply as the scent of butter and meat washed over me, the aroma so familiar and yet so unnatural. I was used to the smells of metal and energon, and the humanity of this place caught me off guard for a moment. I pushed the creaky door open; quiet piano music sounded over bad speakers, tinny and thin. I couldn’t help grinning as I heard it. It had been so long since I’d heard this exact song, which seemed to play nonstop here.

I walked to the counter and placed my order, standing to the side and clutching my gloves tightly to ensure nobody saw my hands. No one was looking, of course. The only people in the store were the preoccupied employees, a couple chatting in the corner, and a few tipsy-looking guys waiting near me, laughing loudly amongst themselves.

I smiled—as glad as I was to be away from everything, from the life I’d once had, nostalgia was hitting me hard. I’d missed it here more than I realized, the normalcy of everything, the way everyone was my size. I felt oddly large surrounded by humans, completely accustomed to everything being massively oversized, familiarized with a world too large for me. Fitting in felt unnatural.

“No way—Hana?”

I turned around and blinked a few times, staring at the two tall boys who had appeared behind me. Their faces looked oddly familiar, large smiles plastered on both, and their identities struck me like a brick in an instant upon seeing their mischievous eyes.

“Jason?” I asked incredulously. “Bill?”

“Hana!” The two boys suddenly locked me into a hug, which I was too bewildered to return. _Dear God_ , I thought. _Why did it have to be these two?_

“How have you been?” Jason asked, brushing his long, dark hair from his eyes. “We’ve been missing you on the team!”

“You losers still hang out?” I asked, stepping back from them, my face trying and failing to grin genuinely. 

“Of course!” Bill said. He was tall and lanky, his eternal buzz cut still shaved close to his head. “We’ve missed you!”

“Sorry,” I said with a small laugh, nervously glancing out at Ratchet, who was still sitting outside, his vision likely obscured by the dust in Sally’s windows.

“Damn, Hana, you look amazing!” Jason was looking me up and down, examining my lean body, looking impressed. “Have you been working out?”

_Please, no._

“I didn’t even know you were in town—we should go to McGregor’s! You’ve gotta tell us what you’ve been up to!”

_Dammit!_

“Jeez, Jason, I—” I stumbled over my words, trying to think of a valid excuse. “I’m just getting something to go; I have stuff to do.”

“For old times sake!” Bill begged. “We’ve been wondering about you for ages! Is your boyfriend with you? What the hell is up with your shoes?”

I winced, glancing down at my feet. I’d forgotten I was wearing my skates. “He—uh, no, he’s, um, at home. And these are… designer.”

“ _Home?_ ” Jason grinned mischievously. “You two have a place together, then?”

“In a sense,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Nothing is more important than us, Hana!” Bill pressed. “Just one drink!”

“I—” I was cut off as my order was called, and I rushed to collect it, trying to make it to the door before being stopped. The boys, of course, blocked my path. I tried to duck below them, but they formed an impenetrable barrier.

“You can’t get off that easy, Hana,” Bill teased. “Come on. Drinks! No excuses!”

I grinded my teeth in annoyance. “Fine. I’m running to the bathroom first.”

Jason eagerly took my sandwich. “ _Then_ we get drinks!” he said. “Maria and I hooked up after graduation; I have to tell you about it.”

“Right,” I said, rushing to the bathrooms in the back and turning on my comm-link.

“Ratchet?”

“Who were those people?” Ratchet said immediately.

“Two of my team members from college,” I said, sighing. “They want to get drinks, and—”

“Absolutely not!” Ratchet snapped, interrupting me. “We cannot be out for this long! You know how adept the Decepticons have gotten at tracking our signals!”

“Yeah, see, here’s the thing,” I said nervously. “These two don’t really take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Usually when I turned them down, they would just follow me to my apartment and knock on the door until I agreed,” I said sheepishly. 

“What? Why?”

“Because they’re annoying and at least one of them used to have a thing for me?” I glanced at the door. “But we can’t exactly leave without them following us. And we definitely can’t bridge back to base if they’re behind us the whole time.”

Ratchet took a few seconds to respond. “Are you sure you can be quick?” he asked, sounding incredibly irritated.

“I’m sure,” I said. “I’ll promise them one drink and then leave. Swear.”

“… Fine, then,” Ratchet said. His voice was strained. “Just one.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Trust me, I don’t want to either.”

“It must be awful to be so popular.”

I giggled. “You have no idea.”

I adjusted my gloves and opened the door, not surprised to see Bill and Jason standing two feet away, grinning widely at me.

“Come on!” Jason said. “You’re driving!”

I could already hear Ratchet refusing. “I am most certainly _not_ driving,” I said sharply.

“‘ _Most certainly_ ,’” Bill mocked in a high-pitched tone. 

_Maybe Arcee was right—I am starting to talk like Ratchet._

“You _are_ driving,” Jason said. “ _We’ve_ both had a few drinks already and we legally can’t.”

“Since when have you two dumbasses cared about drinking and driving?” I said. Just my luck—they were already drunk. They would be impossible to reason with now.

“Since I almost got arrested for it,” Jason said casually. I sighed.

“Can’t you two just take an Uber?” I insisted. “I can’t stay long, I have to go pretty soon and I’m not driving you home.”

“We’ll take an Uber _home_ then!” Bill said brightly. “Let’s go! You still driving that old Hyundai?”

I thought of my old brown car, long abandoned somewhere in New Jersey and almost laughed out loud. “No, I don’t. I have a new car, and you two can’t come in it because you’ll trash it.”

“We won’t, we swear!” Jason said, grasping one of my arms. Bill took the other, and they lifted me and carried me out the door despite my vehement protests.

“Ouch—Bill—get off, idiots!”

“Which is yours?” Jason asked merrily.

“I’m not driving you!”

“Is it the station wagon? That seems like it’d be your style. Old and shitty.”

“ _I’m not driving you!_ ”

“The Camaro? Did you finally get a good car?”

“Let me down!”

“Not until you tell us which car yours is!”

They lifted me higher, and I sighed loudly, tempted to punch them both. Defeated, I kicked my foot toward Ratchet. I swore I saw him lower on his suspension, as if hoping to disappear.

“An ambulance?” Bill asked, walking toward it. “ _This_ is yours?”

“My—uh—boyfriend is a doctor,” I said. “I’m borrowing it. Now put me down.”

They obliged, and I slid nervously into the driver’s seat. Jason and Bill went around the back, tugging on Ratchet’s rear door, trying to open it.

“Unlock it!” Bill yelled.

“What are they doing?” Ratchet asked darkly.

“They’re making me drive them,” I said guiltily.

“I am not a _taxi_ , Hana!”

“I know, I’m really sorry,” I whispered. “It’s only a mile or so away. I promise I’ll shake them off as soon as possible.”

“I can handle one human. I refuse to drive two more,” Ratchet said nastily.

“Then they’re just going to yank on your ass until you open up.” 

“Could we not leave now and return to base?” Ratchet started his engines, and I heard the boys protest loudly. Ratchet’s interior lights dimmed. “Hana, they’re… they’re climbing onto me.”

I leaned out the window. “Get the fuck off!” I snapped.

The two were clinging to Ratchet, laughing hysterically. “You’re taking us to McGregor’s!” they chanted.

Ratchet grumbled for a moment, and I caught a few foul Cybertronian swears in the mix. A few seconds later, I heard a _clunk_ , and Ratchet’s rear door unlocked. They boys cheered and entered.

“Don’t touch anything,” I warned. “ _Anything._ ”

“To the bar!” Jason yelled. Ratchet jammed himself into reverse, knocking both boys onto their stomachs. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Ratchet’s center console flashed, but he didn’t say anything.

We drove to McGregor’s, Jason and Bill chatting at me the entire way there. I prayed I would shrivel up and fade away.

“Tell us about what you saw at the radiation spike!” Bill said. “What happened? What was it? Why did you run away?”

“Did you find any weird samples or anything? How’d you get that black eye?” Jason added. “How did you meet your boyfriend?”

Every light inside of Ratchet flared. I bit my lip hard, trying not to laugh, gently rubbing his steering wheel.

“He’s a _doctor_ , huh?” Jason said, walking forward and grabbing my shoulder. “How’d you find a man like that? What’s he like? What’s his name? What kind of doctor is he?”

“He’s great, unlike you two bozos,” I said coldly. 

“You fuck him yet?”

My eyes almost bugged out of my skull. “I am _not_ answering that!” 

“She fucked him,” Bill said knowingly, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me roughly. “Look at you, finally losing it! And to a doctor! He’s gotta be rich; who knew _you_ could land yourself a sugar daddy?”

“Kindly kill yourselves, both of you,” I growled. They laughed and began making loud moaning noises. I found myself sliding down in the seat, cheeks furiously red.

“Oh, _doctor!_ ” Jason squealed. “Yes!”

“Stop.” My face was burning.

“Don’t stop, _doctor!_ ” Bill continued.

“I will _throw out of the car._ ”

Thankfully, we pulled into the mostly-empty parking lot moments later, and Ratchet slammed the brakes hard, sending the boys tumbling over once again. They laughed and ran out of the back, heading toward the door.

“What were they talking about?” Ratchet asked, sounding bewildered.

“Nothing,” I grumbled. “Nothing at all.”

“What’s ‘fucking?’”

I snorted. “Please, never say that again.”

“What does that mean? Isn’t that an expletive you use?”

“We are never discussing this ever again,” I said firmly. “I’ll be back. Thank you for driving them. I’m so sorry for making you do that.”

“As you should be,” Ratchet muttered. “Be quick. I don’t feel comfortable being out this long.”

“You got it,” I said, hastily exiting. “Thank you again.”

Ratchet grunted and turned his engine off.

I walked inside, unable to appreciate the familiarity since I immediately got hauled to the bar, a beer already waiting for me.

“That was fast,” I noted, grabbing it and chugging half instantly, hoping to leave as fast as possible.

The bartender winked at me. I groaned internally.

Jason and Bill interrogated me for a few minutes, quickly beginning to talk more and more about themselves and ignoring my silence. I halfheartedly listened to their stories, finishing my beer in five minutes and trying to excuse myself before the bartender slid me another.

“On the house,” he said with another wink.

“Really, just one is fine,” I said, trying to push it back.

“Dude, free beer!” Jason said, grabbing the beer and shoving it back into my hands. 

“I said _one_ drink,” I argued, pushing it to Bill. “Listen, guys, this has been great, but I really have to go—”

“No!” Jason said. “We just got here! Tell us more!”

“I said one drink, and I had one drink,” I said firmly. I stood up and began to leave, trying to pry Bill’s tipsy hands from my arm. “ _I said one!_ ”

“You were nicer before you went on that trip,” Jason whined. “What happened?”

“Take off your jacket! Stay a while!” Bill said. He grabbed at one of my gloves, and I smacked his hand away, heart suddenly pounding.

“You aren’t leaving until you tell us the full story of that radiation spike!” Jason said. “Then we promise you can leave.”

I sighed audibly and sat back down. “There’s nothing really to say,” I said. “Nothing was at the site; spike must’ve been a glitch. I… got in a car crash. Had to go to the hospital. Met the doctor. That’s all.”

A yellow glow suddenly shone across my face, and I turned to the windows to see at least five cars pull up at once. That was strange—this wasn’t _that_ popular of a bar. Was it?

“Doctor Daddy, right?” Bill asked excitedly. “He was your doctor?”

I wasn’t listening. The cars had all parked around Ratchet—and they were all assorted shades of grey, black, and purple.

_Oh, no._

“Guys, I have to go,” I said shortly, rocketing to my feet. “Catch you later, okay?”

“No, Hana! Tell us all about him! Full story!”

“You promised!”

“I have to go,” I snapped. I buttoned my jacket and began to rush toward the door. They followed.

“Hana, what’s up with you?” Bill asked. “What’s the rush?”

“You two have to leave!” I snapped, running toward Ratchet, who was still in vehicular mode, unmoving, all lights off. Two more black cars were heading into the parking lot, their current path indicating that they were planning to block Ratchet in.

Jason grabbed my left arm, and I shook him off only to have Bill snatch at my other hand, ripping the glove clean off. I grimaced and tried to push him away, but he had a vicelike grip on my wrist, eyes locked on my two Cybertronian fingers.

“What the fuck?” he asked. 

I used my other hand to knock him away, the force sending him flying backwards. Jason yelled out as his best friend careened across the asphalt.

“What the hell did you just do?” he asked, sounding angry. 

“You need to _leave!_ ” I snapped. “Now! Go back into the bar! I promise I’ll let you know when I’m in town again.”

Ratchet’s engine roared to life as the Decepticons began to pull in behind him. He shone his high beams directly onto me, which surprised Jason enough to make him withdrawal. He suddenly looked quite upset.

“That doctor isn’t a good influence on you,” he said darkly. “You should come back. Permanently. You can crash with me until you get on your feet.”

I felt a pang of shame—this guy _had_ been one of my only friends once upon a time, after all. But I knew I had more important things to do, and a new life that I had to maintain. And my most important tie to that life was currently in mortal danger.

“I’m sorry,” I said hurriedly. “I just really have to leave.”

Jason didn’t say anything, instead helping Bill up, whose wide eyes were darting between my exposed hand and Ratchet.

“Automatic start on… an ambulance?” he said bewilderedly. His gaze shifted to my right hand—Jason’s gaze followed, and his face clouded with confusion as well. 

“What’s up with your hand?” Jason said slowly. “I’m not _that_ drunk, am I?”

I looked toward Ratchet, who was quickly losing any means of escape. 

“I’m sorry,” I said again, guilt and fear crackling in my stomach like fire. “I’ll explain someday, I promise.”

I bolted toward Ratchet, who had no time left and shot backwards, crashing loudly into one of the Decepticons to clear a path for himself. Jason and Bill both screamed.

“Go!” I screamed at Ratchet without thinking. “I’ll catch up!”

Within seconds, Ratchet had burst from the parking lot and began speeding down the road, tires screeching, each Decepticon turning on a dime and following at top speed. I looked back toward Jason and Bill, who looked completely dazed.

“Don’t say a word of what you’re seeing to _anyone,_ ” I ordered. “I’m serious.”

They just stared at me. 

I braced myself and popped out the wheels on my shoes, urging the boosters to send me shooting forward. I had a millisecond to catch two awestruck faces before I jetted down the road as fast as I could.

“Ratchet!” I said into my comm-link. “I’m right behind you!”

“You put us in a very dangerous situation here, Hana!” Ratchet snapped at me. 

“Yell at me later, I deserve it!” I responded sharply. “But for now, we need to bridge back!”

“I agree,” Ratchet said, sounding furious. “Take a right and go to the woods. I’ll keep the Decepticons distracted until you get through.”

I felt a pang of happiness at his words—as pissed as he was, he still cared enough to make sure I was safe. I rocketed down the road as fast as I could, skating toward the angry Decepticon tail lights in the distance.

“Hana to base!” I said. “We need a GroundBridge!”

“Weren’t you just getting food?” Arcee’s voice responded. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Cons,” I said.

“And humans!” Ratchet added.

“I told you to yell at me _later!_ ”

“ _Cons?_ ” Arcee sounded tense. “What is—"

She was interrupted by Ratchet. “Hana, hard left up ahead! I’m going into the woods!”

“You got it!” I banked left, the skates gliding surprisingly well over the bumpy ground, and heard the unmistakable sound of transformation followed by thudding footsteps. I followed as best I could, grateful to see Ratchet weaving through trees, attempting to shake the Decepticons from his trail.

I zipped nimbly through the woods, managing to catch up within a few seconds by staying low to the ground. A Decepticon transformed and jumped toward Ratchet, who spun a second too late.

I jumped as high as I could, swinging myself from a tree branch and launching myself toward him. The Decepticon paused in his pursuit to look at me, and I took the opportunity to kick my feet forward, boosters yanking me directly into the Decepticons’s forehead, the sudden impact flinging it backwards.

Its shoulders were lifting—it was reaching for me. I steadied myself and jumped from its head, sending it down hard and using the momentum to hurl myself at Ratchet, grabbing onto his chest and hauling myself onto his helm.

“Run!” I yelled, and Ratchet didn’t hesitate, transforming and powering forward. I landed on his roof, fists tightened, relief washing over me as I heard a GroundBridge open. Seconds later, we appeared in the Autobot base, and Ratchet screeched to a halt just before crashing into Bumblebee.

I had only a moment to brace myself as Ratchet transformed in front of me, leaning down to face me at eye level, expression full of rage.

“I’m sorry,” I said meekly.

“ _First_ you treat me like some sort of chauffeur,” he snarled, “and _then_ you linger long enough to give Decepticons a chance to lock onto our signals! You could have gotten us both killed!”

I lowered my eyes. 

“You need to be more careful of your surroundings, and you need to understand the stakes of what we are doing!” he continued furiously. “Short trips are one thing, but hanging around like that in sight of humans is an easy way to get ourselves cornered!”

“I know,” I muttered docilely. 

“Until you can _prove_ that you truly understand, we are _not_ going out alone,” Ratchet yelled. “We are the only Autobots on this planet, and every spark among us is one we cannot afford to extinguish due to flippant errors in judgement! I refuse to lose you in such a foolish way!”

I nodded. “It won’t happen again,” I assured him. “I’m really sorry.”

“Am I going to get any sort of explanation here?” Arcee asked, cutting Ratchet off. He huffed and folded his arms crossly. 

Grateful for the interruption, I ran her through what happened—running into my friends, getting coerced into drinks, and the Decepticon ambush. Her face grew grim.

“It didn’t take them long to find you at all,” she said. “If this keeps up, we won’t even be able to gather energon without being pinpointed. We’ll need an extra set of hands. You need to start training harder.”

“I will,” I said earnestly. “I’ll do whatever I can to help. Did Optimus get back okay?”

“He returned a little while ago,” she said, and I sighed in relief. “The Decepticons aren’t dumb enough to send soldiers after him alone. He’s the only one who’s even moderately safe going out by himself.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Ratchet muttered.

Arcee grinned at me. “Get some rest for now,” she said. “We can wake up early and get to it. A couple extra hours of work every day would be good.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I will.”

She nodded and headed toward her recharging station. “Don’t be up too late,” she called over her shoulder.

Ratchet was still glaring at me, and I slunk into my corner, trying to avoid his piercing gaze. He growled something and went to his computer, confirmed everyone’s locations, and began to type away as usual.

I picked up my notes on Cybertronian, scanning over them, trying to empty my mind of guilt.

_Jason and Bill must be so confused_ , I thought to myself. Hopefully they’ll get drunk enough tonight to forget it.

I thought about them for some time, reminiscing my way through all the annoying memories. On my team of six, they were the two who were the most outgoing and had pinned me quite early as an easy target. I had been their wingman for over a year, their bait for cute girls at bars, their fashion advisor despite my open lack of knowledge on the subject. I hated hanging out with them as much as I loved it—they opened their arms to me, got me outside of my hard shell.

Obnoxious though they were, I had one major thing to thank them for— _they_ had convinced me to check out the radiation spike that led me to the Autobots. Whether they coerced me out of their own laziness or to encourage my personal self-growth, I’d never know. But I was here because of them, in a sense.

I wondered if I would ever see them again. It was doubtful at best. Not only did I dislike them a decent amount, they would demand an explanation as to why half of my right hand was solid metal. And the Decepticons were probably already putting together my association with the place, given that a horde of them had seen me talking to other humans there.

_Maybe someday I’ll bump into them,_ I thought. _I can explain that my ‘boyfriend’ is an autonomous robotic alien from another planet, and that both of my arms were made by him and have all the same properties as my old hands. Yeah. That’s a great idea. They’ll take that well._

I chuckled to myself.

Ratchet heard my tinker of laughter and frowned. “What are you laughing at?”

I blinked at him. “Nothing,” I said quickly, shrinking under his icy gaze. “Just thought about something funny.”

He huffed. “I’m going to recharge,” he informed me crossly.

“Yeah,” I said. “Rest well.”

I began to settle down in my own bed, assuming Ratchet was still holding a grudge, but was surprised to feel his hand wrap around me.

I looked up at him as he carried me toward his room. “Aren’t you mad at me?” I asked.

“Very much so,” he said lightly. “But you did take down a Decepticon on your own, and that warrants a reward.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said sarcastically. “I’ll make sure to save your life more often. That way I can sleep next to you.”

“You are not leaving this base except on short, necessary trips,” he said firmly.

“Then how am I gonna get to cuddle?” I put on a pouty face.

Ratchet rolled his optics. “Just ask.”

“Really?”

“I’ll likely oblige.”

“How very kind of you to _likely oblige._ ”

“It’s safer for you to sleep next to me anyway.”

“You really know how be romantic.”

Ratchet rolled his eyes. “I’m merely stating facts.”

“State a fact that I want to hear.”

He scoffed. “I _enjoy_ having you near me at night. Satisfied?”

I smiled. “Yes. Thank you.”

We entered his recharging station, and I helped plug him in, watching his body illuminate with a fresh flow of energon. He sighed happily, his stern face washing over with pleasure as he closed his eyes. I took my usual place on his chest, grinning as his hand came over me, warm and heavy like a giant blanket. I curled my arms under my head, feeling his spark’s pulse begin to slow.

“Hey, Ratchet?”

“Hm?”

“Erm… how do Cybertronians reproduce?”

“Initially, sparks were sent from Primus to the surface via Vector Sigma. Living metal was placed around the spark to create a protoform, which grows into a Cybertronian based on the genetic code in the spark. There is also cold construction, which involves energy from the Matrix of Leadership generating sparks rapidly which were added to pre-constructed bodies.”

“Sexy.”

“Again, I’m stating facts.”

I glanced up and down Ratchet’s body for a moment, feeling my face grow dangerously hot. I buried it in his chest. _No, Hana. Think normal thoughts. Don’t even go there. Jason and Bill are idiots._

“Why do you ask?”

“…No reason.”

“Alright then. Good night, Hana.”

I smiled. “Yeah. Good night, Ratchet.”

I closed my eyes, listening to Ratchet’s steady breathing. He always waited for me to fall asleep first. To this day, I wasn’t sure why, and I never cared to ask. I just liked the feeling his servo tightening around me as I cascaded into nothingness, and the sound of him whispering Cybertronian words to me when he knew I was too far gone to listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very long update! And now I'm wondering why all of my human characters are completely intolerable!
> 
> I promise these aren't just random chapters, there's important stuff hidden in this comic-relief-y sort of chapter for the future. I hope to hear all of your theories ;)
> 
> Also there won't be any smut in this particular fic, just Hana's questionable thoughts and Ratchet not knowing that 'fucking' is a dirty word, but I do have some written up for these crazy kids if anyone's interested. Let me know!


	21. Transmissions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet, you sap.

Late in the night, or perhaps early in the morning, Ratchet stirred. His strange, nightmarish dream quickly faded from his mind, the only remaining memories being Drift’s face floating near Hana’s, a burst of purple, and unbelievable darkness. His eyes flashed open, spark throbbing, a strange tightness winding his entire body into a knot.

Hana was fast asleep on his chest, curled tightly around one of his fingers, trembling lightly as she often did when she had bad dreams. Ratchet urged his body to relax and placed his other servo on her, waiting for her tremors to steady.

She likely didn’t remember her constant nightmares, as she never mentioned them in the morning, but Hana rarely made it through the night without shaking violently at some point. Ratchet had noticed it the first time they’d slept next to each other—being that his shutdown programming was so touchy, the slight movement had awoken him with a start. It didn’t bother him much, as usually it just took a comforting caress to ease her sleeping mind, but he wondered deeply what it was that troubled her mind.

Despite the dreams, Hana was a ridiculously heavy sleeper, which had been fortunate for Ratchet in the recent months. He sat upright, lifting her onto his shoulder, where she lay in a heap, unbothered by the dramatic movements. No sign of awakening came from her except a light mutter.

He stood, walking gently to ensure Hana stayed asleep, and headed to the main room in the silo. His computers were still on. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he walked to his station and pressed a single button on his keyboard.

“This is Autobot Outpost Omega One… again,” Ratchet said quietly. “Drift, it’s been months. If you get any of these messages, or any indication that you know I’m here… please send me some sort of sign. We will find a way to find you before Decepticons do. I promise. You don’t have to worry.”

A smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Hana’s getting stronger by the day—I’m so proud of her. I want you to meet her. She wants to find you too, likely on my behalf. But more than anything, I… I just want to know that you are alright. I want to know that you’re safe… that you’re alive.”

Ratchet sighed. “I’ve extended the range on this transmission. Even if you aren’t on Earth, if you’re alive somewhere, theoretically you should hear this. Please let me know if you do. Over and out.”

It took him a moment to bring himself to lift his finger from the transmission button. He closed his eyes and prayed to Primus, to Unicron, to any being that may be able to hear his thoughts, that Drift would hear his words.

He knew, deep down in his spark, that Drift was alive. He just didn’t know where.

He looked at Hana, who was still unmoving on his shoulder. She wore a strangely troubled expression, a familiar one that she often had in sleep but never in waking. She was always so bright, so hopeful—she was a beacon of light to Ratchet, a constant reminder that, somehow, he was exactly where he was supposed to be despite everything else on this planet being so unfortunate.

Drift _had_ to be alive. Hana hadn’t given up, and Ratchet wouldn’t either. Not now, not ever. Not until he saw his corpse would the medic believe that Drift was truly gone, no matter what the other Autobots said.

He walked back to his recharging station, rearranging Hana onto his chest and hooking himself back up to the cables dangling from the ceiling. A surge of exhaustion rushed through him as energon filtered through his fuel lines.

Hana stretched out, hands just a few inches from his face, snoring just slightly. Ratchet chuckled—humans were so strange.

He draped his servo over her body, feeling her chest rise and fall under his fingers. A new bruise had appeared on her left arm, purple and green, quite normal for a human undergoing an intense training regimen. He frowned nonetheless, overwhelmingly glad that her physical skills were improving, but silently dreading her absence tomorrow. Strangely, he missed being annoyed by her in the lab, the constant pesky questions, her helpful insight on the human technology he had been forced to use for years. The injuries she was constantly peppered with, minor as they were, only made him feel worse. She had never been injured while under _his_ care.

The only comfort he took was that he knew it was all for him. He knew she wanted to find Drift to make _him_ happy. She knew nothing of Drift, and the memories Ratchet had of him were too stressful to divulge just yet, even to her. Yet she never tired; she constantly trained and studied in desperate efforts to be a more helpful member to the team.

She’d told him about it once—she felt useless. She always had. Whether amongst the Autobots, at home, or back at her school, she had always felt like a liability. Her desperation to prove herself was yielding admirable results, even if the reasoning was foolish beyond Ratchet’s belief.

She had no idea how much Ratchet treasured her. Her mind was bright and useful, of course, but her very existence in Ratchet’s laboratory made him feel inspired. He felt as though there was finally a reason to defend the humans other than simply following Optimus’s noble orders. 

He wanted to protect her. He wanted to protect her world and all the small things she loved about it. The light in her eyes when she yammered at him about something that excited her was brighter than anything he had ever seen. She could go on for hours about movies she liked, the way the trees had looked on their last recon mission, even about how energon was a shade of blue that she really enjoyed.

But she was even more beautiful when she was speechless. The first time they had gone out alone, he had been unable to ignore the look on her face as she stared at the stars, shining more vibrant than she had ever seen them before. Stars had never been more than an afterthought to Ratchet, an uncomfortable reminder of the dangerous time he’d spend among them. They reminded him of war, of battles on spaceships speeding among them, of flames kissing them as Cybertron burned, of the loss of his home and countless comrades. 

After Hana had looked at them, their light reflecting against her flushed cheeks, every inch of the universe spattered across her dark eyes, the stars had suddenly become more awe inspiring.

He wanted to protect every star for her. He never wanted their light to burn out.

Not anymore.


	22. Welcome Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana oh my God you are such an IDIOT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!!!!!!! Please note the changed archive warning before reading this chapter... heh.

Optimus’s hand flew toward me, a deadly swing well underway, and I leapt over his arm and clutched to it, clinging for dear life as he sent bullets flying around the arena. Once the shooting had subsided, I looked up to see his other hand rushing toward me at incredible speed.

I used my boosters to fling myself upside down, pushing my feet onto his mobile arm and kicking it out of the way. Temporarily stunned, Optimus slammed his arm down, attempting to crush me underneath, and I kicked off and skated behind him, hauling my massive gun from the magnetic holster on my back and firing toward Optimus’s back. The recoil jerked my whole body backwards as he dodged easily, and I fired again, this time managing to clip his shoulder.

“Wonderful, Hana!” Ratchet cheered. Bulkhead and Bumblebee joined him, excitedly clapping, Bumblebee buzzing happily. 

I replaced my gun, placing my hands on my knees as I caught my breath—even after just a few minutes of sparring, I was decently winded. Months had gone by, my training schedule dramatically increased, and after I had finally gotten somewhat of an upper hand on Optimus once (out of thirty-three matches), he had gifted me one of his old handguns to give me the option of ranged fighting.

“This weapon is not remarkable in any sense, but it is one I care for deeply,” Optimus had said as he handed it to me. “I would like you to have it.”

I stared at it in a daze—it was as big as one of my legs despite being a “handgun,” and weighed as much as most of my body.

“Optimus,” I had said, taking it and staring at it with wide eyes. “Thank you!”

“It is my pleasure,” Optimus had said, smiling at me for a moment. “This weapon is called the CX-183. It should be used as a last resort only due to its comparative size. However, it is vital that you learn to use it, as not only is it a powerful weapon that you have proved worthy of yielding, but by having it, your presence alone will certainly put the Decepticons on their guard.”

“Thank you,” I said again, floored by his generosity. “I’ll start training with it right away! I’ll start working on my arms too, so I can carry it better!”

Which proved to be a feat in of itself—my back was strong from years of hauling around textbooks, but my arms were not equipped for continuous heavy lifting of a gun that weighed at least sixty pounds. I was forced to spend weeks building my muscles before Optimus began to give me private lessons on marksmanship. It had taken a grand total of three months for me to successfully get a single hit on Optimus, and two more after that to get them regularly. 

Today, Optimus had invited the other Autobots to watch a sparring match and offer their own advice, which came flying quickly after the praise.

“You tend to shoot left—aim more for the right if you have to take a quick shot,” Bulkhead advised.

“Your kick down was a bit sloppy; keep your legs straighter and firmer without locking your knees,” Arcee added.

Bumblebee beeped.

“Optimus, you’re going too easy on her,” Ratchet said to everyone’s surprise. “You had multiple easy hits that you didn’t take—I don’t want her to be ill advised as to how difficult real combat will be when weapons are involved.”

“Your opinion is noted—but bear in mind that I am holding back for a reason,” Optimus said. 

“Hana’s tough, but it’s not like she’s a match for a Prime,” Bulkhead said. 

“Maybe we should start doing two-on-one fights now?” Arcee suggested. “The Decepticons outnumber us constantly, and she’s really gotten the hang of predicting enemy movements. It seems like the logical next step.”

I beamed. Praise from Arcee was incredibly rare. 

“A wonderful suggestion,” Optimus said. “Hana, take a well-deserved break today. Tomorrow, you will begin to train against both Arcee and Bumblebee.”

“Are you sure that’s advisable?” Ratchet said, his protectiveness shining through. “She’s gotten injured plenty of times during these training sessions—I don’t want her getting seriously hurt.”

I giggled at him. “Didn’t you _just say_ Optimus was going too easy on me?”

Ratchet scowled.

Bumblebee buzzed, followed by Arcee nodding in agreement.

“Bee’s right,” she said. “We know how to hold back, and how much to hold back. She’ll be safe.”

“How many times have I heard you say that?” Ratchet grumbled. “And yet she still comes back from training with new injuries.”

“It’s fine,” I reassured him. “I can’t get stronger if they go too easy on me.”

Ratchet pondered and sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Please, just be careful.”

I smiled at him. He returned the grin, his face faltering for a moment before he turned around quite quickly.

_What was that about?_

The six of us left the training arena, chatting happily amongst ourselves. I was deeply proud of myself for performing so well despite my nerves at being watched—the stress had turned my legs into jelly. I removed the CX-183 from its holster as we walked, carefully examining it for any damage, still defensive of it and constantly nervous that I was going to break such a precious gift from Optimus. It was as pristine as usual, rarely used. 

“Hana.” As we entered the main room, Ratchet gestured for me to follow him to a private corner, and I interestedly followed, bouncing toward him.

“What’s up?” I asked cheerfully.

Ratchet, oddly, looked nervous. I had seen many expressions on Ratchet’s face, mainly a hundred variations of annoyance with a few soft smiles in the mix, but I had never seen him looking so bashful. His optics darted around without landing on mine, shoulders slightly hunched as he held one hand behind his back.

“Hana, I—” His voice faded in an out for a few moments. It was hard for me to conceal my amusement at such a dramatic change in character.

“What’s going on, weirdo?” I asked with a laugh. “Scared I’m gonna beat you up?”

Ratchet rolled his eyes. “ _Please_. I’m gathering my courage. Give me a moment.”

“Courage?” He had piqued my curiosity. “For what?”

“I’m—very proud of the progress you’ve made,” he said, clearly fighting to keep his voice steady.

I smiled at him warmly. “Thank you!” I said earnestly. “It’s not often that you praise me.”

“What do you mean, _not often_ —never mind,” Ratchet grumbled. “I want to give you something. To commemorate your improvement, and your time here with us.”

He paused. “And… with me.”

I didn’t know how to respond and defaulted to my usual joking manner. “Are you finally giving me a transformation cog?”

Ratchet sighed. “Can you be serious for once?”

“Have you _met_ me?”

He shot me a strange look, a hilarious combination of a scowl and a smile, the face of someone trying not to laugh. “Just… here.”

He extended his hidden hand, which contained a bottle slightly smaller than my fist filled with a strange violet liquid. I stared at it, incredibly confused.

“Uh…” I said slowly. “What is it?”

“This is innermost energon,” Ratchet said, urging me to take the bottle. I obliged, turning it over in my hands, his explanation lost on me.

“…Thanks?”

“This is the energon that stays constant in Cybertronian bodies, flowing around the spark casing from the moment we are forged. It is never replaced or replenished.”

“Why are you giving me this?” I asked, bewildered. “Won’t it hurt you if you don’t have it?”

“This is but a small amount,” Ratchet said with a shy smile. “It’s traditionally given to very special people… to show how deeply you care for them.”

I was speechless. The energon glowed in the bottle, shimmering as though it contained an entire universe within it.

“Ratchet,” I breathed, clutching the jar to my chest. “Thank you.”

He simply smiled at me.

I hugged his leg tightly, and his hand caressed my back to pull me closer. 

Sharing vital bodily fluids was not a romantic gesture I’d ever envisioned before, but I could tell based entirely on Ratchet’s nervousness that it held incredible meaning to him. He had given me the most precious gift a Cybertronian could offer. My heart swelled in my chest, thumping so hard that I was sure Ratchet could feel it.

“I’ll keep this forever,” I promised, holding the bottle tightly in both hands. “No matter what.”

Ratchet’s fingers tightened.

I broke free and carried the jar to my corner of the room, placing it carefully in my backpack, tucking it in an empty pocket and patting the bag to ensure it would be safe. Ratchet had quietly returned to his computer, the trace of a grin carved into his faceplates. Arcee was smirking at him while cleaning, lifting an eyebrow at me as I returned. I shrugged, unable to wipe the transparent smile from my own face. 

“Any scouting we need to do?” Bulkhead asked, peeking over Ratchet’s shoulders.

“There’s an energon deposit in Texas that could stand to be checked over once again,” Ratchet said, loading its coordinates and pulling it up on the map. “We never did get a chance to empty it completely, so if you and Arcee wouldn’t mind, I—”

His voice cut short as a loud _beep_ blared from his computer.

Bumblebee buzzed, standing up and walking toward Ratchet. I glanced at him as well, cocking my head slightly when I saw his sudden stiff posture, the grin on his face gone, replaced with one of utter disbelief. 

“You okay?” Arcee asked. She had been wiping down staircases busily but had joined the rest of us as we stared at the medic.

“What is it?” Optimus asked. 

Surprisingly, Ratchet didn’t even answer Optimus. He was staring at a small dot on his screen as it pulsed anticlimactically somewhere in South Africa.

“Hey,” I said, walking toward him. “What’s going on?”

Ratchet’s mouth was moving, but no sound came out. 

“Ratchet,” I said, knocking on his calf. “Snap out of it. Is something wrong?”

“D—I don’t—it’s—there’s—it’s—D—it’s Drift.”

“ _What?_ ” Arcee threw her supplies aside and ran toward the screen. Bulkhead and Optimus shared a look of shock.

“Are you certain?” Optimus asked, joining the rest of us, who had quickly huddled around Ratchet. I flew onto his shoulder to get a better view.

“It’s an Autobot distress signal,” Ratchet breathed. His optics were wide, his face entirely blank. “With a message attached.”

“It could be a trap,” Arcee said immediately. 

“No,” Ratchet breathed, regaining his composure somewhat. “No, it’s not.”

“How can you be sure?” Bulkhead said.

“What is the message?” Optimus looked tentative.

Ratchet’s face suddenly clouded with the same coyness I’d seen a moment ago. “It—just trust me, I know it’s him.”

“Ratchet, you’ve been prattling on about Drift for months, so forgive us if we don’t trust your judgement right now,” Arcee said forcefully. “ _What’s the message?_ ”

If Autobots could blush, Ratchet would be furiously doing so; I was sure of it. Hesitantly, Ratchet pressed on the coordinate and dragged upwards, revealing a message written in Cybertronian.

“‘Sorry for the late response,’” Bulkhead transcribed. “‘Hurry up and let me meet her.’”

All optics were suddenly darting between me and Ratchet. My mouth dropped open.

“Is he talking about Hana?” Arcee asked, looking both amused and concerned.

“Ratchet,” I said slowly, “did you tell Drift about me?”

“Once or twice,” Ratchet said through his teeth. I knew he was lying right away.

“How many times have you contacted him?” Optimus asked. 

“He hasn’t said anything to me until this point,” Ratchet said, badly dodging the question.

“Ratchet.” I poked a faceplate firmly.

He sighed. “Most nights,” he admitted in a huff.

“You sent out a signal _almost every single night?_ ” Arcee said incredulously. “Do you have any idea how risky that was? What if a Decepticon tracked the transmission?”

“I was fully aware of the risks, and I took necessary precautions,” Ratchet said defensively. “None of that is important right now. We need to go to him. The Decepticons will see the signal as well. They’ll send an army to eliminate him. He’s a massive threat and a traitor in their eyes.”

“We cannot rule out the possibility of this being a trap,” Optimus said. Ratchet whirled to face him.

“You saw his message!” he said wildly. “It’s _him!_ We can be cautious! We’ll be stealthy!”

He put his head down, shuttering his optics. “Please, Optimus,” he continued. “ _Please_ allow an investigation.”

Optimus nodded, and Ratchet’s face ignited with joy and fire. “Another Autobot in the ranks would be a welcome change,” Optimus said. “Drift would be a powerful ally if he can be safely obtained. Ratchet, please prepare a—”

“Absolutely not. I’m going with,” Ratchet said firmly, clenching his servos into fists. “Bulkhead can take care of the GroundBridge.”

“Very well,” Optimus said, clearly accepting that Ratchet was not to be reasoned with. “Hana, you will join us.”

“ _What?_ ” Ratchet and I said in unison.

“If we have truly located Drift, we need all the firepower we can—as well as a distraction,” Optimus said, looking me in the eyes.

“Can’t _I_ do GroundBridge duty?” I said nervously. I was happy to spar in the arena but had balked at opportunities to enter truly dangerous situations since my last scuffles with the Decepticons. An army of them was more than I could handle, physically or otherwise.

“You have proved yourself a worthy warrior,” Optimus said powerfully. “Your presence will catch the Decepticons off guard, potentially for long enough to bridge Drift or ourselves safely back to base. We need stealth _and_ strength in a mission such as this.”

“But—”

“Get the CX-183 and prepare to roll out,” Optimus finished. He placed a finger on my shoulder, his gaze impenetrable. “You are ready, Hana.”

I bit my lip. Ratchet’s optics slid to me, shining brightly. His expression was resolute.

Bulkhead activated the GroundBridge as I rushed to grab my gun, slipping my bag of spare energon over my thigh and buckling it into place. I holstered the heavy weapon across my back, took a deep breath, and joined the rest of the Autobots in front of the now-open GroundBridge. Ratchet enclosed the hilt of Drift’s sword in his chest, his jaw setting.

“Be fast and be on your guard,” Optimus ordered. “Roll out!”

I burst forward as the Autobots ran, keeping my position between Bumblebee and Ratchet. As we disappeared into the sea of color, Bumblebee shot me a thumbs-up. I returned it with a determined smile. 

We appeared in a large field filled with rocks, the autumn air around us pleasantly warm in this hemisphere. I gathered my footing as we slowed to a walk, every Autobot immediately drawing their weapons and scanning the area.

“No sign of life, Decepticon or otherwise,” Ratchet said, staring at a sensor in his hand. “These were the correct coordinates, were they not?” He busily pressed at the screen in his arm, looking confused.

“Autobots, remain on highest alert,” Optimus said. “Search the area for any signs of Drift or Decepticon.”

We cautiously parted, and for the first time ever, I was left alone. I blinked for a second, suddenly realizing that I was being treated as a true member of the team.

It was both awesome and beyond terrifying.

I skated quietly toward a cluster of rock, looking for any scratches in the ground or droplets of energon. It appeared nothing had touched this land in years, save for a few scarily large bugs nestled in the dark nooks of the stone.

I edged forward, turning my skates into normal shoes and taking note of where each Autobot was located. With some difficulty, I scrambled over a large boulder and looked around, hoping to see an unfamiliar bot.

I was beyond determined to be the one to find Drift. If he was truly here, Ratchet would be so happy. I wanted to give him that more than anything.

My eyes scanned the ground for oversized footprints, anything that would give indication of Drift’s location. Nothing. The minutes ticked by, one minute turning into five and then into ten, the only sounds being distant metallic footsteps and the pleasant cheeping of hundreds of insects. 

I was so involved in my search that I hardly noticed the shallow cliff at my feet, and I yelped as my body pitched forward. I tucked into a ball and allowed myself to roll, protecting my neck, suddenly incredibly proud of my instincts. Maybe my training had been more effective than I’d thought.

I came to a halt against a bush, where I sprang upright, dusting myself off and praying that nobody had seen what I’d just done. I did a quick once-over of the land, my eyes pausing on a large cave mouth etched into the side of the steep hill I’d just tumbled down.

My eyes narrowed as I peered at it. It was deep—too deep for me to see into. I felt my hair stand on end, memories of my first Autobot-inflicted injuries creeping into my mind. I glanced at my hands, the biolights shining almost encouragingly.

Taking a deep breath, I drew my gun and walked hesitantly forward.

A peculiar growl was emitting from the cave. My stomach leapt into my throat—it sounded quite like a bear. 

_Are bears native to South Africa?_ I thought nervously. _I’m not a biologist, how should I know?_

I shook my head; if I could take on Optimus, I could take on a bear. I entered the cave, gun aimed safely downwards, the glow of energon in its barrel providing just enough light to guide me forward.

I debated calling for backup, but decided against it, worried of the potential embarrassment of four Autobots showing up to take down an animal they could easily step on. I wondered distractedly if Optimus was as protective of wildlife as he was of humans.

My shoes clinked loudly on the stone floor, and I winced as I accidentally kicked a rock, which clattered noisily as it fell into a hole in the ground. The sound was practically deafening in the silence.

I paused. A hole?

I took a few cautious steps, gun raised, one eye narrowed against the scope and the other taking in my surroundings. The hole was relatively shallow, enough that normally I’d be able to see the bottom, but the cave was far too dark to get a good look inside. The only thing I could see was a large black mass, shifting slightly.

I charged my weapon to strengthen the beam of light, and two slanted blue orbs suddenly appeared in the darkness. The hair on my neck and arms stood straight up.

“Nice gun you got there,” an unfamiliar voice said. “If you’re gonna shoot, go ahead and do it. I’ve got nothing to live for if my only rescuers want me dead.”

My eyes went wide, and I blinked as fast as I could, wishing I had night vision.

“Tell me who you are,” I said, my voice cracking severely.

The speaker laughed. “Not the bravest, are you?” The mass shifted upward, the depth of the hole keeping the eyes level with mine. They were narrowed to slits already and tapered even further upon seeing me eye-to-eye. “Wait a minute… you might smell like it, but you’re not Cybertronian.” The optics shifted to my hands, which were tight around my gun. “Wait…”

My heart exploded with hope. “Do you know me?” I asked quickly, the CX-183 still pointed directly between his optics.

“Personally, no,” he said. From this close, I could make out some sharp white shapes on his face. “But I’ve heard _of_ you.”

I lowered my gun, aghast. “You’re Drift,” I whispered.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he chuckled. “Mr. Protective actually let you in the field? He’s been rambling about how worried he is about you going out on recon. For _months_. Kinda whiny, if you ask me. Not really his style.”

“He has?” I was floored. “Wait a minute—you’ve heard his transmissions and never said anything back?”

“Not exactly,” Drift said. His voice was smooth and manly, slightly husky. “I’ve been hiding here for ages. Been scrambling all signals, incoming and outgoing, ever since I found out that there’s Cons on this rock. It just so happens I’m almost out of energon, and my shielding was the first thing to go once I had to start rationing. I got hundreds of messages, all from Ratchet. Listened to every single one before sending out a distress signal. I had no idea any Autobots were around, otherwise I would have said something sooner.”

He sighed. “I was all prepped to die, too,” he said, incredibly casually. “I’ve got enough energon to keep me alive for a week, week and a half, tops. I was ready for it. Guess I’m just lucky that my scrambler died before I did.”

“The Autobots have a ton of spare energon,” I said. “Plenty for another teammate.”

“Another?” Drift sounded bemused. “How many are here?”

“Ratchet, Bulkhead, Arcee, Bumblebee, and Optimus Prime,” I said. “We—”

“ _Optimus_ is here?” Drift said, his hands suddenly reaching up to heave himself from his crater. “You’ve got a merry little band, don’t you?”

I holstered my gun. “You could say that,” I said with a shrug. “Come on—come to base with us. Ratchet’s gonna be so excited.”

“Any Cons around here?” Drift asked, standing upright. He was, of course, massive: slightly shorter than Ratchet, maybe only by a foot, but his outline indicated that he was built for fighting. “I’m not exactly equipped for battle right now. Dying really gets in the way of proper preparations.”

“None yet, but we can’t count on that for long,” I said. “They’re better at tracking signals than we are. We have to hurry.”

“Who knew I’d ever take orders from a native?” Drift said amusedly. “Lead the way, Hana. You _are_ Hana, right?”

“The one and only,” I said, popping out my wheels and beginning to skate. “You seriously think Ratchet would let _another_ human hang out with him?”

Drift laughed heartily. “Damn. You do know him well.”

As we approached the entrance of the cave, I glanced back to take in Drift’s figure. I had been right in assuming he was built to battle—he had strong arms, thick legs, a trimmed waist, all decorated with sloping lines in black, red, and white. His face was hard, with narrow eyes and sharp cheeks, two large spikes above his eyes adding two feet to his already looming physique. Empty sheaths were strapped to each of his swinging hips, and another rested on his back. Yellow lights glowed across his body, contrasting starkly with his vibrant blue eyes.

“Ratchet made those for you?” Drift asked, pointing at me.

I chuckled darkly. “Which bit are you pointing at?” I said.

Drift smirked. “The shoes. But that’s not to say your hands aren’t impressive.”

I cracked the knuckles. “All of it courtesy of our favorite doctor,” I said warmly.

“What a guy,” Drift said with a grin. “He made you his conjunx yet, or is he still being a wimp about that?”

I looked at Drift, puzzled. The word sounded vaguely familiar—where had I heard it before?

“Conjunx?” I asked.

“You don’t know?” Drift said. “That explains that, then. He _did_ wimp out.”

“What’s a conjunx?” I asked again. 

“Oh, you’ll find out after I get my servos on him,” Drift said, rubbing his hands together. “Just you wait.”

I frowned as we exited the cave. “Fine, don’t tell me,” I said grumpily. 

The comm-link in my hand crackled to life. “Any sign of him?” Arcee’s voice said.

“I have found no trace,” Optimus replied. Bumblebee beeped sadly.

I opened my mouth to say something before Drift leaned down, pushing my hand from my face. “Let’s surprise them,” he said excitedly. “I’ll take the blame if Ratchet yells at you.”

I hesitated. “That’s not really protocol,” I said slowly.

“Oh, come on, don’t be one of those ‘by the book’ people!” Drift said. “Just imagine the look on Ratchet’s face!”

He looked so eager that I couldn’t resist giving in.

“Promise you’ll take the blame?”

“I swear on all of Cybertron.”

“I know that’s an empty promise. I’m not dumb.”

“Ugh, fine.”

I grinned and pulled my comm-link to my face.

“Let’s rendezvous at our original GroundBridge location,” I said into it. “We can try and contact Drift from base.”

“A sound idea, Hana,” Optimus said.

Drift giggled like a kid. 

“Give it a few seconds so we show up later… and… okay!” He stood upright. “Let’s go!”

We scaled the cliff, Drift climbing easily as I boosted myself up with my skates. In the distance, I could see the small outlines of the other Autobots, heading toward one another. Drift stood tall and dusted himself off.

“How do I look?” he asked. I surveyed his body, which was coated in a thick layer of dirt and grime. 

“About as good as someone living in a cave can look,” I said. Drift laughed.

“You and Ratchet are two of a kind,” he said, bumping me on the shoulder. “Come on.”

We walked toward the other Autobots, who were standing in a cluster now, facing away from us. Drift pumped a fist quietly.

“Perfect—they aren’t even looking!” he said excitedly. “Pick up the pace so we can really shock them.”

His stride lengthened, and I attempted to keep up with him while staying as quiet as I could. We were still a decent distance away when Ratchet turned toward the sound of Drift’s heavy footfalls.

The other Autobots shifted as well, just close enough that I could see their optics widen significantly. I waved. Drift copied me.

Ratchet had just taken a disbelieving step forward as the sound of a GroundBridge opening blasted through the air behind me and Drift. I had only a second to look before Decepticons began pouring out.

“Shit!” I hissed, drawing my gun. Vehicons appeared in formation, followed by an arsenal of faces I recognized all too well—Knockout, Breakdown, Starscream, and of course, Megatron.

The Autobots ran toward us as the Decepticons charged, terribly close. I drew the CX-183 and fired, bending at the knees and allowing the recoil to shove me behind Drift. The bullet somehow managed to collide with a soldier’s arm, knocking it clean off. He yelled in pain and spun backwards. The other sentries stared at me, looking surprised.

“Hana, fall back!” Optimus ordered, jumping over me and landing heavily between myself and the guards. The other Autobots followed, Ratchet pushing the hilt of Drift’s sword into his hands.

“A welcome party _and_ a welcome gift,” Drift said with a grin. “Thanks for this, Ratchet.”

“It’s good to see you, old friend,” Ratchet said warmly, his arms transforming into their own swords. “But let’s get you back to base before we celebrate your return.”

Drift smiled mischievously. “ _With pleasure._ ”

He took the hilt of the sword and raised it skyward. With a loud crackling and a flash of blue light from Drift’s chest, a massive silver blade grew from the hilt, sparkling as though it were brand new, sparking with energy. I stared in awe as he swung it down, narrowing his optics.

“Deadlock!” Megatron said tauntingly. “Just the defector I was hoping to see.”

“Save it, Megatron,” Drift snarled, responding to the unfamiliar name. “I became an Autobot eons ago. Let’s not fight an old fight.”

“The older a conflict, the more satisfying it is to conclude,” Megatron responded coldly, drawing his gun.

“Optimus, we need to retreat,” Arcee said. “Drift is in no shape to fight.”

“I appreciate the thought,” Drift said, readying his sword, “but I’m not one to run from an easy victory.”

“Bulkhead—be ready to prepare a GroundBridge,” Optimus said.

“You got it, boss.”

All at once, everyone charged. And for the first time ever, I wasn’t told to stay back.

I ran forward, holstering my gun and kicking toward a soldier, hoping to warm up on an easy target before pounding the life out of Knockout. I used a familiar technique, feigning a head-on attack and running up the sentry’s arm when it fired toward the ground. I lingered on his arm, waiting for him to pull up and using the momentum to swing myself toward his head, pushing myself in a graceful arc above him and sending a bullet straight through his helm. The sentry collapsed below me; one his flailing arms smacked me in the face as he hit the ground, and I grunted in pain, feeling the area swell on impact.

Bumblebee suddenly appeared behind me, slapping me out of the way of a bullet that had been flying toward me. I yelped and skidded to a clumsy halt, watching as Bumblebee punched a soldier in the face. He looked at me and nodded. I lifted my thumb. He returned the gesture.

Optimus had, of course, taken on Megatron, who was laughing.

“I see you’ve trained your pet,” he said as he swung a heavy blow toward Optimus, who barely evaded the attack. “I guess it’s good that I crumbled her arm into powder. I practically built her for you, didn’t I?”

“Ratchet! Don’t listen to him!” I yelled, not even knowing where Ratchet was but terrified that he would react badly like he had done so many months ago. I skated toward Drift, who had just finished slicing a sentry cleanly in half, looking proud of himself.

“Where’s the doc?” Drift called over the chaos.

I scanned the area and caught sight him locked in a fight with Knockout. He was holding his own quite well, managing to graze a blade against Knockout’s chest. The Decepticon snarled in anger and lunged, shoving Ratchet into a smaller sentry, who was quickly crushed under the medic’s weight.

Bumblebee, who was fighting Starscream, was quickly joined by Arcee—to Starscream’s obvious displeasure. Breakdown, who had been hanging back to protect the open GroundBridge, suddenly turned his arm into a large hammer and ran toward Megatron, clearly hoping to land a hit on Optimus.

“Optimus!” I shouted as Drift yelled for Ratchet. We parted simultaneously—I flew toward Optimus, and Drift leapt to aid Ratchet.

I drew my gun in midair, taking a point-blank shot at Breakdown’s swinging arm, hitting the hammer just enough to knock it out of trajectory. All three of the Cybertronians in the fight turned to look at me as my feet collided with Breakdown’s chest.

The strike was hard enough to make Breakdown stumble, and his attention was immediately shifted onto me. He was slow, his size and movements very similar to Bulkhead’s, and I wracked my brain for techniques that would be most effective as he hurled his hammer toward me.

I jumped onto his hammer and waited for him to try and swat me off, and as he did, I cut to the side and swung onto the moving arm. I grabbed as tightly as I could and rocked toward his face, misjudging his size and punching his forehead instead of his optic as I had intended. He grunted and grabbed for me—I soared out of the way, landing at Optimus’s feet.

Optimus took aim for Megatron, whose optics were locked on me. I drew my gun and fired milliseconds before Optimus did. I missed my shot at Megatron’s knees on purpose, forcing him to bend directly into Optimus’s bullet.

He growled. Breakdown surveyed me for a moment before leaving the fight to join Knockout, who had been screeching for assistance for some time.

“I must say, I’m impressed,” Megatron said, pointing his gun at Optimus. “Who knew a few months of work could turn a human into this?”

“I picked a good team to train with,” I snapped. Megatron’s eyes narrowed.

“You won’t be training for much longer,” he hissed.

“Get behind me, Hana!” Optimus ordered. I immediately obliged as the two continued their fight, keeping my gun pointed at Megatron, waiting for an open shot. They were unbelievably fast—Optimus had never fought me like this, and it was incredible to see him brawling with everything he had.

After absorbing a series of powerful punches, Megatron took a few steps back, rage carved into his every feature. He launched forward, firing a bullet at Optimus, who ducked to the side easily.

I frowned— _why did Megatron aim so far left? He’s been plenty precise so far._

My scope was suddenly filled a violent purple light, and I lifted my eyes, realization coming over me far too late.

Megatron hadn’t been aiming to hit Optimus. He was moving him out of the way. 

But his aim was perfect as he fired at me.

Time slowed down in the seconds it took the bullet to travel. I felt my eyes widen, my muscles tense up. My body knew what was happening and was screaming for me to move out of the way, but my brain knew there wasn’t enough time. I was frozen.

A million images rushed across my mind, my entire life flashing before my eyes as the bullet drew closer. I had no emotion, no reaction whatsoever. There was no time to feel anything. My mouth opened to scream, but my vocal chords weren’t fast enough to vibrate. My eyes began to close instinctively.

There was only a huge black silhouette, an explosion, and the sound of something crashing down in front of me.

Time sped up again. I opened my eyes, confused. The world around me was intact. Was I dead? Or had Megatron missed? My ears were muffled and ringing from the explosion, and my vision was blurry and full of spots. The battle was obscured by a large mass on the ground before me. I felt blinded and horribly ill for some reason.

Sound made its way past my piercing ringing in my ears—Megatron was laughing. _Hysterically_ laughing. It was awful, sickeningly joyful, grating against my brain like rusty knives. 

“Ratchet!” Arcee’s voice screamed from somewhere in the distance.

I staggered upright, blinking hard to clear my temporary blindness. Something was coating my feet. I looked down and saw energon flowing freely, pooling on the ground in thick puddles. I followed it, still stunned and confused.

As my eyes moved toward the source, everything became terribly clear.

I screamed.

The mass in front of me was Ratchet.

I ran toward his head, which was lying limp on the ground, energon leaking from his mouth and nose, optics wide and void of their usual brilliance. There was a massive hole in his chest, bluish smoke pouring out and billowing toward the sky, energon flushing out of his systems and drenching the ground.

“Ratchet!” I shrieked, grabbing his faceplates. “ _Ratchet!_ ”

His optics shifted weakly onto me, terrifyingly dull.

“Are you alright?” he whispered dimly.

“What did you do, Ratchet? _What did you do?_ ”

“I swore that you’d… never get hurt again.”

Every time he opened his mouth, energon gushed out. Watery lubricant began leaking from his optics, and I felt my stomach lurch—I had never seen him cry. Not once.

“The stars,” he breathed. His voice rattled, every ragged breath making more smoke and fire erupt from his chest. Sparks were flying everywhere, landing on me, burning my exposed skin. I didn’t care.

“Don’t talk,” I said desperately, pressing my hands on his mouth, feeling the hot energon slip over the fingers. “Save your strength. Stay awake, okay? We’ll get you back to base. You’ll be fine. Just stay awake. It’s okay.”

“The stars,” he repeated, his optics struggling to stay focused on mine.

“What?”

He coughed, a fresh river of energon spouting over my arms. I turned to look at his chest, my heart pounding against my ribs as I saw more sparks begin to shoot out like fireworks.

“Ratchet—is—is that—yours?”

“It’s shrinking,” he said, lubricant beginning to seep more and more from his widening optics. “Hana—the _stars._ ”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was… going to protect the stars for you,” he breathed. Another large tear dripped onto the ground. I began to try and wipe them away, completely panicked, close to vomiting. My heart felt like it was crumbling inside my chest.

“I wanted to see them shining… in your eyes.” His breathing was beginning to slow, every word incredibly labored. “Just… one more time.”

My efforts to clean energon and optical lubricant from his face was growing more fruitless and more desperate by the second. “Ratchet—"

“I'm sorry… that I'll… never get that chance.”

“No! Don’t say that! I can fix you. You taught me how!” Tears began to streak down my face. “This’ll just be another lesson, right?”

“Hana… I…”

“ _Right?_ ”

The sparks abruptly stopped exploding from his chest, replaced only by the rising smoke and flames. His optics fell out of focus, staring straight through me, the beautiful blue replaced with the worst shade of grey I’d ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY BEFORE YOU FREAK OUT, note that this is only part 1 of the Deception series. There is more to come. 
> 
> I won't be updating daily anymore, as I'm starting to get close to the end of what I've pre-written, but I'll try to update as often as I can! There is far more to this story, trust me, and I can't wait to tell it. 
> 
> And I absolutely have to say thank you SO MUCH to all of my readers and to those who comment-- I love hearing what you have to say, and the support for this story has been overwhelming. I'm absolutely blown away and I'm so, so grateful to everyone who has stopped in to read. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You have no idea how much it means to me. :')


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